Ladies, Gentlemen und Panzer
by MaxRavenclaw
Summary: After Kuromorimine was defeated by Ooarai in the 63rd National Sensha-Dou Tournament, popular demand forced the Sensha-dou Federation to lower tournament joining requirements, allowing in lower tier girl schools and even boys. Thus, the gentlemen of Eton found themselves thrown against better equipped and better trained opponents to seize victory from the jaws of defeat.
1. A Formal Occasion

_AN: Edited as part of the 2017 improvement project. __Merged with first chapter. v6 (08/04/17)._

* * *

For countless years, the single-sex school ship system had been a pillar of society, helping generation after generation of fine young women become professional and efficient citizens, develop their self-esteem and the characteristics necessary for motherhood. But cracks, long hidden, have begun to appear. Slowly but steadily, many such institutions approached bankruptcy. In the last ten years alone, countless schools have been disbanded and ships decommissioned. The system needed change.

The first change occurred when Kuromorimine was defeated by the newcomers Ooarai in the 62nd National High School Senshado Tournament finals, ending the monopoly rich girls colleges like KMM had. Due to popular demand and outside pressure, the Senshado Federation was forced to lower the tournament joining requirements, allowing lower tier girl schools and even boys into the tournament. This gave less funded institutions a lifeline, but it was not enough.

The second change occurred when schools started adopting a coeducational system. It rapidly became vital for poor schools, with Ooarai and Anzio being forced to accept male students from disbanded academies. Although controversial, it saved many colleges and paved the way for a co-ed ship future, with more and more academies embracing the system.

* * *

Eton Boys Academy, a boys-only high school based in Osaka, official expansion of the College of Eton independent boarding school in Eton, Berkshire and house of countless foreign and Japanese students had finally opened its doors to the world. In celebration of the admission of boys into the National Senshado Tournament, Eton threw an extravagant party, inviting all major schools in Japan, boys and girls alike. The Music Club played Vivaldi's Concerto No. 1 in E major, Op. 8, "La primavera" as the guests poured into the ballroom.

"I still can't believe the headmaster agreed to this," said Wellington. "One moment his office is completely against girls on campus and the next he throws a party and invites every female student this side of the Pacific."

"Not even our good old John Bull of a headmaster can stand against the flow of time," Sharpe said with a snicker.

"Yes. If we are to fight in the National Senshado Tournament, it's inevitable we'll interact with girls," Castus said, all matter of fact. "Trying to stop it would be pointless."

"And you know what the best part is? We were short on members because nobody here liked tanks that much," Sharpe said, "but with the new Federation rules, the Senshado Club will be Eton's vanguard when it comes to meeting girls. We'll be the envy of every student on campus," he added, as his snicker turned into fully fledged laughter.

Wellington rolled his eyes. "Yes, I can't wait…"

"Now there will be no shortage of volunteers," Castus said, as monotone as usual.

Meanwhile, Eton's headmaster had climbed a podium and started what was certain to be a lengthy and superfluous speech. "Ladies and gentlemen. In the name of Eton, I welcome you to Her Majesty's Ship Implacable!" His voice echoed in the ballroom.

"Argh, must he really?" moaned Wellington.

"It's customary," said Castus.

"Not much into formalities, are you?" Sharpe chuckled. "You'll have to get used to it. You won't have the luxury of being so informal with ladies around."

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk! Castus will just do what he does best: pretend he's a statue – stoic and all. But you? You'll scare them all off."

"What? My cool and uncaring façade is part of my charm. You, however, better do something about that choleric temperament of yours."

Sharpe's words and grin made Wellington's brows furrow. "I'll manage, thank you."

Sharpe looked into the crowd. The room was bustling. "Hmm, maybe I'll finally get the chance to meet an elusive _yamato nadeshiko_…" he mumbled to himself.

"Beg your pardon?" Wellington asked.

"Nothing! Nothing!"

"Don't just stand around, chaps!" Abruptly, a blond boy appeared near the group, his approach having been masked by the crowd. His charming smile and good looks made almost every woman nearby turn her gaze.

"Richard? Oh, God, I had hoped the girls would keep him busy," said Wellington.

"Pip pip! Go mingle with the ladies! Do you plan to waste the evening hanging out with the same people you do daily?"

"Oh, heavens no! Perish the thought! I wouldn't even dream of wasting this opportunity to flirt with every high school girl that crosses my path."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Adrian," Richard said, suddenly monotone. He never called Wellington by his real name unless he was very serious. "We can't have every student hiding from our guests. Flirting or no flirting, get out there and make them feel welcome. If you're that scared of women go talk with those Russian lads from Gordost or something."

"Oh, the bears? I'd rather face the women," Wellington mumbled. "Although I might scout them a bit later, after they're drunk on vodka. They are our future opponents, after all…"

"Well then, get a move on!" Richard shooed them.

Wellington frowned again. "At least the headmaster finished his speech. Thank God!"

"This marks the dawn of a new age, an age where girls and boys alike can take part in the art of tankery. A toast, to Senshado!" The headmaster's closure was followed by a wave of applause.

"Well, I guess the ending wasn't that bad," said Wellington. "Where's Heinz and the rest of the Historical Costume Club?"

"Oh, those guys?" asked Richard. "They rushed to the Ooarai tables the instant they heard they have a history club too. Thank God they didn't come dressed as historical figures. I'm still not convinced you didn't recruit them just because they're obsessed with nicknames, like you."

"Those who know history can avoid repeating it," Wellington said.

"So you keep telling me."

"It's been months, Richard. You've seen what they're capable of. We've had this conversation before."

"At least they don't force nicknames on other people," Richard said.

"What do you care? You didn't want to be called Lionheart, so nobody calls you that."

"Guys, if I didn't know you were best friends I'd say you are a married couple," interrupted Sharpe. "You bicker like one."

"Touché," Richard said. Wellington sighed as he put his palm on his face. Then Richard noticed something. "All of you, follow me! We need to introduce ourselves," he declared.

The blond boy dashed into the crowd. Sharpe and Castus followed quietly, but Wellington was more reluctant. "Fine, but you start the conversation."

Only turning his head slightly, Richard gave his friend a thumbs up. "Done! Make sure you're presentable."

Wellington ran a hand through his brown hair. It was short, so he generally didn't bother combing it – a waste of time, he thought – but this was a formal gathering, so a minimum of effort was due. Compared to Wellington, Richard was much more interested in his image. He always made sure he arranged his blonde hair, despite it being just as short, and had his uniform ironed at all times.

Wellington wasn't surprised when Richard approached a small group of girls. "I hope you are finding the party enjoyable," the blond jumped in, a brilliant smile on his face. He was almost uncannily attractive and had a history of being the target of unrequited love. Luckily for him, joining Eton had spared him from any unwanted followers.

"Yes, it's quite lovely," said one of the girls. She appeared to be the eldest of the group. She wore her sleek blonde hair below the shoulder and gave off an air of elegance and maturity.

"I don't believe we've been introduced. Richard Stanfield, captain of Eton's Senshado Club, driver and at your service." The boy took a bow.

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Oh, introducing myself will be a bit difficult–"

"Because you're part of Saint Gloriana's Tea Garden," interrupted Wellington. "You don't have a name anymore. Members take on tea blends as soul names and eliminate their real ones – a small price for being accepted as a lady of exemplary character and intellect."

"You seem to be well versed in our history." The girl turned her attention to Wellington. "That is correct. I am 'Earl Grey', Tea Garden member and former captain of Gloriana's Senshado Club."

"Ah, we have much in common," said Richard to draw attention back on himself. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Our glorious strategist you've already met." Richard looked at Wellington, but the boy wasn't too happy that his friend was giving away information so easily. Gloriana could have been their enemy in the future. "Thomas Adrian Greenberg, the mastermind of our Senshado Club."

"Yes, while Richard uses his erudite social skills to handle formal leadership manners and nonpareil driving abilities to drive tanks, I handle the esoteric recondite arcana of strategy..." Wellington said, in a deliberately florid fashion.

"He's your chap if you want a good plan, or sarcasm," Richard explained.

"Friends call me 'Wellington', after Sir Arthur Wellesley, the Iron Duke."

"Oh, you have soul names as well? Marvellous. And you are a namesake of the man who defeated Napoleon, to boot." Richard gazed at Wellington, his smile growing. The boy looked back defensively. He knew what Richard thought and would have nothing of it. His friend had the tendency to play cupid, but it was too early.

"You flatter me. They're not soul names per se, nothing as formal as the Tea Garden, yet close enough," Wellington explained.

"And your other friends," the girl turned back to Richard.

"Gendou Sonzai, the strongest loader in Eton," the boy pointed at his dark haired, well-built friend. He was just as tall as Richard, but broad as a barn door.

"A peculiar name," said Earl Grey. "Is it Japanese?"

"My father had a very limited knowledge, but a great love of the Japanese language. My name is the unfortunate result of his attempt at a Japanese name, yet I hold it with pride. My team calls me Castus, though."

"After Lucius Artorius Castus, a Roman military commander and potential historical basis for King Arthur," explained Wellington. Richard gave him another look, but Wellington was sure he didn't want to go down that road yet.

"Fascinating," said Earl Grey.

"And last, but not least, Markus Krambeck, the best gunner in Eton." A bit on the slim side, like Wellington, rather than sturdy like Richard and Castus, the boy obviously focused on agility. His hair was short, like everyone else's, yet black and slightly glossy, and his gaze sharp and focused.

"Pleased to meet you!" the girl said. "I noticed your uniform is different from the others. Might I inquire why?"

Eton had a very British uniform, with a red coat resembling those used by officers in the Army. Most students wore the same colour, but Sharpe had made a special request to be allowed to wear a darker version, reminiscent of the black and green of the 95th Rifle Regiment.

"It is based on the uniform of the Prince Consort's Own Rifle Brigade. They call me 'Sharpe', after Bernard Cornwell's fictional character, and I try to live up to the expectations."

"Oh my, mister Stanfield, you have quite the entourage of friends," said Earl Grey. "And your sobriquets are positively fascinating. But you haven't told us yours? Do you not have one?"

"Of course, how could I forget?" said Richard. "Some call me Lionheart, after Richard the First of England, or _Lowenherz_, if you wish. Although my nickname didn't stick like the others."

"Such a pity, it would have been quite the title."

"You may call me Lionheart if you wish, milady," Richard said, his smile renewed.

"Tsk, typical," Wellington muttered.

"I do believe it is my turn to do the introductions. I present to you my successor, captain of the Saint Gloriana Senshado Club, Darjeeling." Another blonde girl took a step forward. Unlike her senior, she wore her hair in a French braid tied at the nape. A pair of light blue eyes similar to Richard's made the girl stand out from her peers.

"Pleased to meet you," Darjeeling said. "Allow me to welcome you into the world of Senshado. I'm glad that the Federation finally decided to accept boys into the tournament, but you know the saying: time and tide wait for no man. I hope we will face in many honourable matches in the future."

"Orange Pekoe," Earl Grey introduced another girl. Shorter than the rest, she had two braids tied in twist buns, but what set her apart from the other girls was her reddish hair, a sharp contrast to their blonde. "She is perhaps a rival for your Castus, the best loader Gloriana has to offer." Castus scanned Pekoe with a stoic gaze, until the girl glanced back. For a second, their eyes locked. Intimidated by the massive lad staring at her, she instantly avoided his look, flustered. The reaction made the boy realize his mistake, causing him to mirror her move. "And last but not least, Assam." As the last girl stepped up, her voluminous hair bounced. It was below the shoulder, like Earl Grey's, but frizzy, although not so much as to be unappealing, tied from behind with a black bow. "Assam is our best gunner."

"Oh, perhaps she and Sharpe can exchange gunnery tips?" Richard suggested. Sharpe glared at him. A proper British lady wasn't exactly what he was looking for.

"Oh, looks like Heinz needs some help with Ooarai," said Sharpe after a few moments of awkward silence. "Excuse me, ladies. It's been a pleasure making your acquaintance." He gave a quick nod and ran off. Assam looked a bit flustered by the boy's sudden departure, especially given its timing.

"Don't mind him, ladies," said Wellington. "His east European heritage makes him unable to appreciate an English rose." Darjeeling liked the comparison, a warm smile grew on her face, but Assam's expression didn't change.

"Did you know that Assam is quite the comedian," mentioned Darjeeling. Her plan worked. Assam suddenly lit up at the mention of her talent, but for some reason, Pekoe and Earl Grey turned white. Wellington had a bad feeling about it. "Do tell a joke, Assam."

With a smile on her face, Assam opened her mouth for the first time that evening.

"A man wakes up in a hospital after a serious accident. He shouts: 'Doctor! Doctor! I can't feel my legs!' The doctor replies: 'I know you can't. I've cut off your arms!'"

Darjeeling spontaneously burst into laughter. Wellington only chuckled at first, then unexpectedly broke down as well. Richard kept up his bright smile, as did Earl Grey, though hers looked a bit forced. Castus and Pekoe didn't flinch.

"I told you she's good," said Darjeeling, still giggling.

"I don't know about that, but I do love these types of jokes," said Wellington, unable to stop a smile from gracing his lips. Such an event was rare. Richard couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his friend with anything else than his trademark frown or a straight face.

"Must admit, never tried cheering him up with a joke," Richard said to Castus. "Didn't think it possible." Castus looked baffled and nodded.

Assam was positively enthusiastic. It was the first time a boy laughed at her jokes. Other than Darjeeling, no one in Gloriana did. Wellington wiped the tears out of his eyes and looked up to be surprised by how brilliant the girl looked with a smile on her face. Shyness didn't suit her.

"My stomach hurts. I haven't laughed this hard in a while," said Wellington.

"Oh, you should hear her other jokes," said Darjeeling. Everybody flinched. Pekoe turned white again.

"Oh, no, no!" interrupted Earl Grey. "We wouldn't want to waste her entire arsenal in one evening, would we?"

"It's not about the joke, it's about how you say it," explained Assam.

Darjeeling noticed Pekoe was a bit silent. She wasn't taking part in her conversation with Assam and Wellington. "Go on, Orange Pekoe," Darjeeling gently pushed the girl towards Castus. "See if their loader lives up to his name." The girl shyly approached him, but remained silent.

"So… err… how fast can you load an Ordnance QF 17-pounder APCBC shell?" Castus asked.

Pekoe's face lit up with interest. "You have those? Our biggest gun is the QF 75mm!"

"Aren't those a bit slow? They're anti-infantry guns, right?"

Seeing that interactions were off to a good start, Richard turned his attention to Gloriana's ex-captain. He moved closer to the girl and leaned in a little. "Earl Grey happens to be the most popular blend in Eton. I blame the bergamot oil."

"Yes, I favour it too," Wellington obliviously cut in before the girl could react. "Richard brews a decent cup, but his maid takes the prize." Richard clenched his teeth, but his smile didn't fade.

"I'd very much like to meet this maid, if I get the chance," said Earl Grey. "And taste her tea."

"Unfortunately, girls weren't allowed on campus until recently, so Lottie's still in good old England. But I'll be sure to invite you all over when she visits."

"She must have some experience if you hold her in such high regard. How old is she?" asked Earl Grey.

"You know what they say, never ask a lady her age," said Richard.

"Oh, a good saying," Darjeeling cut in. "I should note it down."

Wellington guessed that some sort of high level flirting was going on between Earl Grey and Richard, but it was all beyond him and he didn't bother to understand. The boy was obviously making sheep eyes at her and was getting a positive reaction. Wellington didn't enjoy the subtleties of complex courtship, but he could not deny that he felt a shade of envy. He finally understood why the headmaster was so against the concept of girls on campus. Add a woman to the fray and the men will tear each other apart for her attention. He hoped it would not come to that.

* * *

The hours just flew by. Richard kept talking with Earl Grey, trying to find out as much about her as possible, but Wellington stopped paying attention after a while. He didn't expect a conversation with a girl could prove so stimulating. Darjeeling brought good arguments in favour of infantry tanks. Assam would say something from time to time, but she was mostly quiet.

"So you don't field cruiser tanks?" asked Wellington.

"Earl Grey did. She preferred them," explained Darjeeling. "But I personally favour infantry tanks."

"Slow and lacking in firepower?"

"But heavily armoured," Darjeeling countered smiling. "Nothing can penetrate our armour."

"A 17-pounder can," Wellington said.

"Most of the opponents we face don't have something that powerful."

"So it's good enough?" Wellington asked. "That's what the yanks said in '43."

Before they knew it, the party was over and the guests started leaving.

"Everyone gets along so well," said Richard. "Why don't we do this again? Maybe the ladies would be interested in visiting us some more in the future. A soiree, perhaps?"

"Unfortunately, as an alumna, I no longer live on HMS Ark Royal, but I'm certain my juniors would be delighted," explained Earl Grey.

"It would be our honour," said Darjeeling.

* * *

After the girls left, the boys met outside. A bright full moon shone over HMS Implacable. Wellington contemplated the implications of having found a girl he could talk with about strategy.

"Earl Grey is one tough nut to crack." Richard sat down beside him.

"You did not just compare a girl to a nut…" Wellington retorted.

"Girls like her are rare… few and far between. I kept trying to figure her out, but I swear she found out more about me than I found about her. And she became less interested by the minute."

"Wow, a girl that didn't completely fall for you the first two minutes?"

"Oh, trust me, she did. She just changed her mind afterwards. Maybe I was too sincere. I shouldn't have told her about all my hobbies."

"You managed to do that in just a couple of hours? You just listed them, right?"

"Very funny, Adrian…"

"Don't regret being sincere. It's better you two find out you're incompatible now rather than later."

"That's… actually pretty deep coming from you…"

"And whatever you do, don't turn into a lying seductive bastard."

"How did it go on your side? Anyone interested?"

"I have no idea. We talked about tanks and tactics the whole time."

"Why am I not surprised? What about Assam. I noticed how she looked at you when you laughed."

"She… how did she?"

Richard gave Wellington a wink. "Take a better look next time, mate."

* * *

"So, how did your evening go, ladies?" asked Earl Grey. The Tea Garden climbed onto the helicopter to start their quick journey back to Ark Royal. "I've never seen Pekoe and Assam so talkative."

"I told one joke…" Assam said.

Darjeeling gave her a wink. "Case in point."

"And what about you, Darjeeling? I noticed Sir Wellington's futile attempts to make you accept cruiser tanks."

"You know what they say: women will have the last word. You could not convince me, and neither could him."

"Oh, you and your sayings." Earl Grey patted Darjeeling on the head. "But don't forget that facts are stubborn things."

"Good one! I have to write it down!"


	2. An Informal Occasion

_AN: Edited as part of the 2017 improvement project. __v2 (13/04/17)._

* * *

As the helicopter's rotors came to a halt, Wellington helped Darjeeling, Assam and Orange Pekoe down the landing platform. "Welcome back to HMS Implacable, ladies," he said. "How was your flight?"

"Bearable, but I couldn't wait to land," Darjeeling answered. She looked around for a moment, as if taking in the scenery, before giving the boy a smile as greeting. "Tell me, Sir Wellington, will you try to convince me of the superiority of cruiser tanks again?"

"Oh, heavens no!" Wellington exclaimed before a chuckle. "I know a futile endeavour when I see one. Why carry coals to Newcastle?"

"Beg your pardon?" Darjeeling threw him an inquisitive glance.

"Oh, my apologies, it is an idiom of British origin describing a foolhardy or pointless action."

"Fascinating! I must write it down."

"Castus is waiting for us at the garden pavilion," explained Wellington. "Richard… should pop up any moment…" It was unusual for his friend to be late, especially when ladies were involved. He always wanted to keep up perfect appearances. Chances were he was up to no good, planning to make some sort of surprise entrance. Wellington sighed at the thought. "Right this way."

The boy led his guests though the park next to the helipads – a surprisingly vast public garden with numerous flowerbeds dotting a sea of grass. Many narrow footpaths spanned the place to form a sort of labyrinth. To the left, a few small hills bordered the park, and to the right, a thicket of trees formed a green wall. The target of their walk was visible ahead, in the distance – the pavilion.

Just as the group reached the middle of the park, a faint neigh sound echoed from the direction of the hills. "What the…" Wellington mumbled, just as a white stallion appeared on top of the largest hill and started galloping towards them. "By God," the boy muttered, utter disbelief on his face. "That's his plan?" The sight of the horse in the distance made Darjeeling's eyes grow wide with anticipation. As the animal came closer, it became apparent that Richard was riding it. Wellington glared at his friend as he approached the group, but was simply ignored. "Unbelievable…"

"Whoa, down boy!" The horse nickered as Richard reined it in. "Sorry I'm late, ladies. I took Pegasus for a ride and time just flew," Richard explained, as he caressed the animal's milk-white mane. "I came here as soon as I could."

"Of course…" Wellington grumbled.

"You also ride?" Darjeeling asked, her expression radiating enthusiasm. She approached the horse without a trace of fear and patted its head. "We positively must ride together sometime!" Richard raised his hand to stop her, but before he could, the girl was already petting the animal. To his pleasant surprise, however, the horse was calm. It liked her.

"Pegasus never got attached to anyone this fast," the boy said. Wide-eyed, he watched dumbfounded as his mount accepted the girl's every advance. The more he looked, the more his eyes started sparkling, the more his pulse quickened. Unable to avert his gaze, he gaped as if hypnotised as Darjeeling caressed the animal's fur. It took him a few moments to snap out of the reverie, but eventually, his smile slowly returned. "Why not ride today?" Richard finally spoke. "We have plenty of horses to spare!"

Darjeeling's smile grew for a moment, before she realised something. "Oh, I couldn't leave the girls alone…"

"Go on, Darjeeling_,_" Assam said.

"We'll be just fine, Darjeeling-sama," Pekoe added.

"Adrian will take good care of them," said Richard.

"Wellington!"

Richard offered Darjeeling his hand. "Milady?" The girl took it and he pulled her onto the horse, right behind him. "Today, we ride!" the boy declared. Pegasus nickered. "Hold tight." Darjeeling grabbed on Richard's body firmly as the horse started its gallop.

"I'm glad that's out of the way… Where were we?" asked Wellington. "Ah, yes. On to the garden pavilion!"

* * *

"Are you OK?" asked Richard.

"Fine, thank you," Darjeeling answered. The bumpy ride made her voice tremble. The horse was almost running at full speed.

"I apologize. Pegasus is quite… enthusiastic," Richard shouted over the neighs of his mount. "He seems to have taken a liking to you. Do you want me to slow down?"

Darjeeling was silent for a moment, as if considering the offer. "No, it's OK," she said. "I am a rider myself. I can handle it." Just as Darjeeling finished her sentence, Pegasus jumped over a rock. The girl let out a short cry and tightened her grasp. Her body pressed hard against Richard's back. The boy couldn't help but wonder whether she was doing it on purpose, a small blush on his face…

"You sure?"

"Yes... Perish... the thought!" She was already adopting expressions she heard at Eton. Richard smiled. He liked her more by the minute.

"We're here," Richard said. After the horse slowed down, Darjeeling weakened her grip on the boy's torso and looked around. Before them was a large white building, the whinnies of horses filling the air around it. "Let's see which one you like." Darjeeling let go of Richard and stared in awe at the stables – a multitude of horses of many colours to choose from.

"Oh, black! Black!" the girl declared.

"I overheard from your conversation with Wellington that your favourite tank is the Centurion," Richard said as they entered the stables.

"I've been meaning to ask. I understand you have one!" Darjeeling clapped.

"So it's true." Richard turned around and smiled brightly. "We know our next destination. Want to drive in it?"

Darjeeling almost jumped up with joy. "Is the Pope Catholic? Of course I do!"

"Good thing I'm a driver, right? But first, let's find you a horse," Richard said.

"I can't wait. This is proving to be a very enjoyable visit. You are a great host!"

"I try my best," Richard said. He liked sincere flattery in general, but it felt even better when coming from Darjeeling. _"Noblesse oblige."_

* * *

"A man goes to see the doctor.

'Doc, everything hurts when I touch it.'

'Let me see. Touch your arm, does that hurt?'

'Yes, doc.'

'Now, when you touch your knee, does that hurt as well?'

'Ouch, yes, that hurts too!'

'Now if you touch your chest, how's that?'

'It hurts just as much, doc.'

'Just as I thought: your finger is broken.'"

Wellington erupted in laughter, rendered unable to do anything but hold onto his stomach. Castus and Pekoe, meanwhile, grimaced at each other in pain.

"I love how you do the voices," said Wellington between gasps for air. "You really have a talent for dry jokes!"

"So… can you load shells with your left hand as fast as with your right?" Pekoe found Assam's joke so unappealing that she decided to put her anxiety aside and get out. She grabbed Castus by the arm and dragged him outside the pavilion. "Could you show me the garden, please?"

"Done!" said Castus when he finally understood the girl's plan.

"I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day but I couldn't find any," Asam resumed her comedy act.

Wellington merely chuckled at that one. Was he running out of endorphins? He used the brief pause between Assam's humorous assaults to catch his breath. "Reminds me of a camouflage training joke."

"Do tell!" Assam asked.

Wellington wiped the tears from his eyes and said, "Well, it went something like this: 'a sergeant tells a private:

'Private, I haven't seen you at the camouflage training course today!'

'Sir, thank you, sir!'"

The two started laughing together. Wellington realized he was enjoying himself even more with Assam than when he was arguing over tanks with Darjeeling. Maybe Richard wasn't so wrong about having girls at Eton. The absolute glee in her look, rosy cheeks and brilliant smile kept catching Wellington off guard whenever he looked at her. She was radiant. Something as trivial as someone laughing at her jokes had made her so cheerful. Wellington found it strange, but he couldn't stop gazing at her. Assam noticed the boy's stare. Blood rushing to her cheeks, she looked away. Wellington shook his head, as if to shake off some invisible dust clouding his senses.

The sound of instruments flew over the air from the distance. The Music Club was practicing nearby. They were rehearsing Tchaikovsky's opus 66, _The Sleeping Beauty_. The waltz was played without discord, a perfect performance, as expected of Eton's musicians. Wellington considered inviting Assam to a dance, but he hesitated. Richard's influence was getting to him. It was too early, he thought, and he wasn't even sure he was interested. He wasn't sure she was interested either. They stood in awkward silence for a while, silently enjoying the music until it stopped, but even with their excuse gone, they still weren't sure what to talk about. The boy prayed for something to happen… anything.

"_Sahib _Wellington!" A young Indian boy ran towards the pavilion from where the music had played.

"Gandhi! How are you, chap?"

The boy frowned a little at Wellington's salute – another victim of his nicknaming. "Fine, thank you. And you?" He spoke in a thick Indian accent, a sharp contrast to Wellington's posh British.

"Entertaining our guests… although most of them seem to have evaporated…" Wellington said, finally noticing Castus and Pekoe's absence. "But where are my manners? Assam, I present to you Gandhi. He is a member of the music club, a violin player, to be precise."

"Pleased to meet you." Assam took a bow.

She was still beautifully well disposed. Gandhi gaped at her, but she didn't seem to notice. "Ahem. Gandhi, this is Assam, Saint Gloriana's best gunner."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," the boy said, still staring.

"So! Have you reconsidered my offer? Will you join the Senshado club?"

Wellington's loud proposal finally snapped Gandhi out of his trance. "I would love to…" he said, "more than ever, but the Music Club has many upcoming concerts and contests. I need to practice."

"Yes… I didn't get the chance to pull strings and have your draconic teacher cut you some slack. I'll get around to it someday," Wellington said.

A bitter smile grew on the Indian boy's face. "Good luck with that. I wouldn't dare ask anything of her."

With a snort, Wellington waved his hand dismissively. "She can't be that bad… and if she is, Richard will handle it."

"Another interesting nickname? Might I ask how you got it, Gandhi-_san_?" Assam asked.

"Most nicknames on campus are my doing," Wellington admitted. "Except for the Historical Costumes Club. They picked their own."

Assam gave a nod of understanding. "Gandhi-_san_ must be a very peaceful person."

Wellington chuckled. "Quite the opposite, he is surprisingly aggressive. We occasionally play grand strategy games together. He beats me most of the time. He'll be a welcome addition to the club."

The sudden start of weird music from his pocket caused Gandhi to rapidly grab his mobile and look at the screen. "I have to go. Talk to you later!" he said and started running back towards where he came.

"His teacher, I bet…" said Wellington. His gaze lost into the horizon, he shook his head and let out a sigh. "Ah well… I wonder where Castus vanished..."

* * *

"Darjeeling-_sama_!" Orange Pekoe ran from Castus' side to her schoolmate the moment she saw her walk with Richard towards them. "How was the ride?"

"We didn't just ride! We also played tennis! It was very fun!" Darjeeling said.

"Did you win, Darjeeling-_sama_?" Pekoe asked, intended as a rhetorical question.

"It was very tight, but it ended up in a draw," Darjeeling explained to her junior, before turning towards Richard. "We positively need to play again." She didn't seem too upset at her failure to win.

"Eh?" Pekoe looked at her baffled, then at Richard. She didn't believe it possible. Nobody could beat Darjeeling at anything. Had she finally found her match?

"We need to buy more horses for the Ark Royal! And a tennis court!" Darjeeling said. "But where is Assam?"

Richard watched how Pekoe's mood improved second by second after her senior returned. Stoic Castus probably wasn't the best company. He'd have to do something about that, Richard thought. "Oh, Castus-_san_ was kind enough to show me around the gardens here…" Pekoe said. "Assam and Wellington-_san_ are probably still telling jokes at the pavilion."

The thought sent shivers down everyone except Darjeeling's spine. "Oh, why didn't you tell me? I love her jokes!"

"Err, why don't we all visit my place? It's nearby, I'll make some of my delicious French Omelette!" Richard suggested in a hurry.

"You cook as well?" asked Darjeeling.

Happy to have successfully changed the subject, any nervousness from behind Richard's smile vanished. "Yes, you'd be amazed what else I got to learn when I was a kid," he said. "I learned this recipe from the Stanfield Chef, who in turn learned it from a famous Frenchman. The trick is in the spices, a culinary secret known only to a few select Spaniards." While Casus had his usual straight face, the girls looked at Richard with obvious interest, hanging on his every word. He'd almost forgotten how it felt after so much time at Eton. "When I was a child, this noble from Madrid came to a party and brought his own cook for whatever reason. The man took pity on the lonely kid he met there and cheered him up the only way he could: talking about cooking. It didn't really work, but I appreciated the intention, and learned a few things."

"This is great! I also enjoy making food. Maybe I can help!" Darjeeling declared.

Pekoe turned white upon hearing it. "Darjeeling-_sama_, maybe we'll cook for them when they visit the Ark Royal…"

The meaning behind the young girl's words was obvious enough for Richard to pick up on instantly. "Yes! I can't have my guests cook! I'll handle it, no worries!" He said, much to Pekoe's relief. "Castus, go get Adrian and Assam!"

"Wellington!" said Castus, with a slightly louder tone than usual. "That's what he'd say." Richard guessed that was his attempt at a joke, but ignored it.

"Tonight. We dine!" Richard said, his voice rising in a great crescendo, before ending with an anticlimactic, "At my place."

* * *

"My God, she's perfect!" said Richard. He sighed, staring into the horizon towards which Saint Gloriana's helicopter flew. The sight of the sun setting behind it only made him feel the more passionate.

"Beg your pardon?" Wellington asked.

Richard's face was tinted a dark shade of orange, but the flicker in his eyes was obvious. "Darjeeling. My God, that miniskirt…" He bit his lower lip. Wellington looked at him dumbfounded, mouth partially open. Richard's behaviour was… unexpected. It was the first time Wellington saw him like that. Normally, it was the girls who had that reaction to him. "She looked great in that tennis outfit."

"She… brought a tennis outfit?" Wellington asked, even more baffled than before.

"I swear, if I didn't know I'd say she was doing it on purpose."

"She brought a tennis outfit?!" Wellington asked again, this time mildly irritated.

Richard didn't mind the reaction at all. Instead, he continued his emotionally charged monologue. "I would have sensed her intention had she tried to seduce me, but no... it was all natural…"

"I'm sorry, do you not find it the least bit strange that she brought a tennis outfit to what was supposed to be a quiet afternoon tea party?" Wellington's tone was well past confusion and into annoyance.

Richard shrugged. "She said it was just in case… so, no."

"By God, talk about crazy prepared…" Wellington mumbled to himself. "Who in the name of God brings a tennis outfit to… never mind…" After finishing thinking out loud, the boy turned his attention back to Richard. "You must have gone easy on her. A draw? And neither of you looked that exerted."

"No. I went all out. She's good," Richard said. "Although I _was _distracted…" Wellington's eyes grew wide. He couldn't believe it. "As for the sweat, we showered afterwards."

"What?"

"God, not together! What are you thinking, man?!"

"I… didn't… specify…"

"But you were thinking it!"

"No I wasn't!" Richard glared at Wellington. "OK, maybe I was," Wellington admitted. "So… did you peek?" he continued, unwilling to pass up the opportunity for a good jest. After all, it wasn't often that Richard showed any form of emotional vulnerability.

"Adrian, you hurt me!" Richard cried, before letting out a chuckle.

"Wellington!"

A few moments of silence returned seriousness to the atmosphere. Richard continued his original monologue. "She's the closest thing to a proper Englishwoman I met in Japan, far superior to anything I hoped to find. She's elegant, beautiful… And we have so much in common. I think I'm in love…" Richard spoke in a voice Wellington hadn't heard before, like an infatuated teenager, and they'd known each other since they were children. The lion of Eton had finally met his match...

"By God... You're going to keep inviting them over, aren't you?"

"You bet I will!" The boy seemed to have returned to his usual disposition, but Wellington could not easily forget the way his friend had spoken.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"You always have a bad feeling! Learn to love, mate!"


	3. The Soiree

_Author's Note: I updated this chapter's ending. Other than that, this is the same. I'll try to avoid modifying what was already posted with the exception of typos, but in case I need to make more drastic changes, I'll make a note like this one._

_Author's Note 2: Finally made up my mind on the timeline. I changed "months" to "weeks" in the third sentence (first paragraph) since only a couple of weeks, not months, passed since the events of "An Informal Occasion". I'll make an official timeline after I post all the chapters that describe the events predating the Gordost battle._

_AN3: __Edited as part of the 2017 improvement project. __Old readers, check the end of the chapter, at the very least, for something new._

* * *

Richard Stanfield had invited the St. Gloriana girls to a soiree. It was not the first time Darjeeling, Orange Pekoe, and Assam visited HMS Implacable. In the previous weeks, Wellington, Castus, Richard and Saint Gloriana had visited each other countless times. It had become something of a habit. After the grand party Eton threw to celebrate the dawn of the new age, a close relationship was established with the girls' school, offering students the opportunity to interact and socialize with members of the opposite gender, to strengthen character, an excuse Wellington believed to be Richard's creation. His friend had a surprising amount of influence over school matters.

"How are the starters?" asked Richard. He was stirring the eggs for his trademark French omelette while his friends were munching on a baguette with black caviar and mascarpone.

"Glorious!" Darjeeling said.

"Isn't it a bit late for an omelette?" asked Wellington as his friend lit the stove.

"Don't worry, I use coconut oil and I'll keep it light."

The dish had proved to be surprisingly popular, and Richard found himself making it every time the girls visited. Wellington wonder how long it would take for them to finally grow sick of it. Any day, he thought, but the weeks passed and nothing changed.

After the eggs were perfectly fried, Richard quickly mixed his secret spices, put them on the omelette and served his guests, ladies first_. "Bon appétit!"_

_"Merci beaucoup, Coeur de Lion!" _Wellington said when Richard brought his share, sarcasm dripping from his every word. Even as his smile remained unfaltering, Richard clenched his teeth and gave Wellington a glare, a sign that the quip had struck home. _"Eh, seules les filles peuvent t'appeler ainsi,"_ Wellington muttered under his breath.

Richard was the only other person in the room to speak French, and was pretty sure nobody else had heard the second comment anyway, but he couldn't let it go. "Judge me all you want, mate, but this night's for your sake," he whispered. He wouldn't let his friend ruin the mood, or his plan for the evening, even if Wellington was technically right. So he turned his frown upside down and declared to the room, "You know what? Why don't we spice things up a little with something else than tea?"

"Is there anything else to drink?" Darjeeling asked.

"Alcohol, of course…" Richard said.

"Why drink that when we have tea?" Darjeeling asked.

"I wouldn't recommend drinking tea after six…" Wellington said. "You won't sleep well. It has caffeine…"

"Doesn't really affect me," Darjeeling said.

"I don't generally drink hard drinks, but I'll make an exception this evening…" Wellington said. He hoped it would at least make the time pass faster. "Surprise me, Richard."

A devious smile tried to take over Richard's lips, but with a bit of effort, he made it look innocent. "Scotch, on the rocks, coming right up! Everyone else?"

"Something soft, please?" Assam said.

"Campari in orange juice! Coming right up!"

"Can I drink wine with an omelette? What wine goes best with eggs?" asked Castus.

"No!" cried Wellington.

"Hmm… let me think about it," Richard said.

"It's too late…" Wellington muttered.

"The subtle flavour of egg doesn't clash with wine, but its wobbly texture causes problems. Eggs – like avocado, ice-cream, baked custard and anything in aspic – have an unusual mouth-feel, which makes them unpleasant with tannic, full-bodied reds, but lovely with whites."

A short silence followed, making Wellington sigh in relief. "Phew, that was short." Sadly, he had celebrated too soon.

"In fact, there are some lovely pairings between eggs and wine. I'd recommend a fruity, rounded, unoaked white. I'm thinking sémillon and pinot gris, a modern Spanish white or a New World Sauvignon Blanc. You can get away with a red only if it is very light and juicy. Champagne works as well–"

"Richard! Just recommend something," Wellington said.

"Oh, sorry, I'm ranting. I'll get some champagne."

"I'll have the same!" Pekoe said.

"What about you, darlin– Darjeeling?" Richard rapidly corrected himself. "Apologies. It's so much easier to say it without the 'jee'." The boy smiled brightly.

"I don't mind either way." Darjeeling smiled back.

Wellington was convinced that it was on purpose, and the fact that such a silly flirt even worked made him let out another sigh. Had _he_ used it on anyone, the reaction would have, beyond doubt, differed drastically. But his friend had a charm, a way of speaking the words, of wiggling his eyebrows or whatever, that made girls inexplicably go weak in the knees. Wellington very much preferred when Richard applied more subtle techniques, as he had with Earl Grey. At least if he couldn't understand them, he couldn't cringe.

"But I have no idea what to drink. I don't usually drink anything but tea," Darjeeling said.

The girl's declaration snapped Wellington from his thought induced trance. "Not even water?"

"Don't get me anything for now, I'll come back to you when I think of something," Darjeeling said.

"As milady desires," Richard said, a bit disappointed. No matter, the intended targets had taken the bait. His own conquest could wait.

* * *

It was late, past midnight. Outside the open window, the crickets played a serenade. A pleasant breeze caressed the curtains as it flew into the room. It had been a long evening, but Richard's plan had worked out.

"Pay attention to me!" Darjeeling exclaimed half-voiced, softly hitting Richard's shoulder with her clenched fists. She kept clinging on him, but the boy was too focused on the situation developing on a nearby armchair to pay attention.

"Objective achieved," he said to himself, putting no effort into hiding the huge grin on his face – not that anyone was awake enough to see it.

Darjeeling pulled on his sleeve. She was tipsy and behaved radically different. Richard could barely recognize her, and only after a couple of sips. She couldn't hold her liquor; that much was obvious. Even Assam had more before passing out. As for Pekoe, she was a monster, rivalling even Castus in endurance, absurdly resilient despite her tiny frame. No way would he challenge her for a drinking match anytime soon. "I wish I was born an Englishwoman," mumbled Darjeeling. "This pretence game is sooo tiresome."

"Trust me, darling, you're closer to the ideal Englishwoman than most of the women I've met." He smiled at her. She smiled back. With everyone else asleep, his job was done. She would finally get his attention. But Richard didn't want to take advantage of her too much. He was a gentleman, after all.

"I like it when you call me darling," the girl said. Her golden hair contrasted her red cheeks, not a blush, but the effect of intoxication.

"I thought you didn't mind either way…"

"I'm more honest when I'm inebriated."

"At least you admit."

"That I'm honest?"

"That you're inebriated."

"You really think I'm a proper Englishwoman?" As she asked, the girl looked Richard deeply into the eyes. Overwhelmed by her gaze, Richard finally understood how other girls must have felt when he did it – it was a taste of his own medicine.

"Like I said it, more than most of the ladies I've met."

"Then stop flirting with anyone else! Do you love me or not?" Richard's eyes grew wide. He didn't expected her to be so direct. It was all subtlety and undertones before. The surprised look on his face gave him away. Darjeeling realized he had caught him off guard. His face turned red, she had the advantage. It was the first time she saw him flushed – the confident, always in control Lionheart was blushing. "Hell hath no fury like… err…" she tried delivering a final blow with her usual English sayings but stopped in her tracks. Richard chuckled.

"Like a woman scorned."

"Yes, that! So don't look at other girls anymore, or you'll scorn me!"

"Don't worry, darling. I have eyes only for you."

As if finally victorious, her battle over, Darjeeling finally let her guard down. Fatigue struck – she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. Richard held her up. "Drink this," he said, helping her gulp on a glass of water. He took her to the couch. "Sleep tight, fair lady." He kissed her on the forehead as she snuggled up to Pekoe, put her head in the girl's lap and promptly fell asleep.

With the final conversation over, the room became just as silent as it was dark. A single candle kept away the darkness as nothing but the subtle noise of calm breathing could be heard. Richard tapped Wellington on the shoulder. "Hey, mate, wake up for a second," he whispered. The boy opened his eyes, barely. "Drink this, or you'll be hung over like hell tomorrow." Richard handed him a glass of water.

"Yeah, sure…" Wellington said, half asleep. He gulped on the water than he realized something. He remembered sitting in the armchair and drinking some scotch, then everything was fuzzy. He was still in the armchair, but he felt something heavy and warm on top of him… breathing? He opened his eyes fully to assess the situation. He looked down only to see a mass of blonde hair. Assam was on top of him! "Mother of God!" The girl hugged him tighter in her sleep. He was now fully awake. What had happened? He didn't remember.

Richard hushed him. "Go back to sleep. You'll wake everyone up."

Wellington took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Somehow it worked – maybe because of the alcohol still in his bloodstream. "What… what happened? I don't remember a thing."

"Ah, nothing much… you both got drunk and made out."

Wellington's eyes grew even wider. He fought the urge to jump out of his seat. "What?!"

"Shhh… You made out and she passed out shortly after. You've been like that ever since."

"Oh, God…" Wellington mumbled. He would never see the end of Richard's teases after that… Hopefully, nobody else witness too much. "What about the others?"

"Castus and Pekoe were kind of boring. They just filled each other's glasses for a while then fell asleep. Darjeeling on the other hand…" Richard grinned.

"I thought she didn't drink."

"I convinced her to put some whiskey in her tea."

"I don't even want to find out."

"We made out."

Wellington frowned. "So your plan succeeded completely, you diabolical bastard. I should have expected…" He wasn't angry as much as he was disappointed at his own failure to see it coming.

"You hurt my feelings, mate," Richard quipped. "Darjeeling was probably the most awake, after me. She'll remember everything by tomorrow. By the way, you're welcome."

"Bloody hell, I don't remember a thing…" Wellington whispered to himself.

"I'm sorry for you, mate."

"I need to get her off…"

"Watch how you word it." Richard chuckled.

The frown on Wellington's face deepened. "Bloody hell, you know what I mean. Stop teasing and give me a hand."

"Nope!"

"Damn it, Richard."

"Don't pretend you're not enjoying it…"

Another sigh left Wellington's lips. He gave Richard one last annoyed glance, to no effect. "Ah, I'm too tired for this. My head hurts."

Meanwhile, Richard's smile had returned. "Not used to drinking, are you?"

"Must sleep. Will sort this out tomorrow." Wellington closed his eyes.

Richard turned around. "My job here is done," he whispered to himself. "Next, these two…" he said looking towards the couch. Orange Pekoe slept peacefully with her head resting on Castus' shoulder. Darjeeling was lying on the couch, her head still in Pekoe's lap. Richard had already served everyone a glass of water to avoid the next day's headaches. Everyone but Assam. He couldn't wake her up, and frankly, he was glad, lest she would have freaked out and ruined everything. Nope, they were fine the way they were, at least until morning. He took a couple of pictures and sat down in another armchair. He had… enhanced the truth – Wellington and Assam hadn't really made out; it had been more like a cuddle, really – but his friend's reaction had been more than worth telling an innocent lie. The feeling of accomplishment for having helped his friend was his main reward. Getting a good laugh was just a bonus. And what a bonus he'd get for that evening's success… It would be quite a spectacle at dawn.

* * *

Richard woke up as soon as the sun sent its rays through the window, hitting his face. Everyone else was still sleeping – he was an early bird. After stretching his arms and permitting himself a yawn, he got up and went for the kitchen.

A sweet, familiar smell filled Wellington's nostrils. "Mmm, Earl Grey…" he mumbled. As he fully awoke he noticed that Assam was still sleeping peacefully on top of him. Her hair was all messed up, but he couldn't deny it was all too adorable. Besides Richard, who was always up and running before everyone else, Castus was the only one awake – still acting the pillar that kept Pekoe's sleeping body upright, while sipping on some coffee. Richard, meanwhile, looked as happy as could be, buzzing around the kitchen doing whatever it was he did in there. He'd probably woken up at least one hour prior. Wellington found his obsession with perfection to be tiresome at times.

"Earl Grey, as usual, Sir Arthur?" asked Richard, alluding to his nickname.

"Yes, thank you kindly." Wellington's voice disturbed the sleeping beauty that used him as a mattress. With a soft moan, she started waking up.

"Oh, here it comes!" Richard shook Darjeeling gently. "You've got to see this." The girl slowly woke up and looked at him confused, a strand of her blonde hair caught in her mouth.

"Beg your pardon?" Then she noticed the scene.

Assam, finally awake, in an uncomfortable position, muscles aching in her entire body for having slept in such a way, looked up confused. Her gaze met Wellington's forced smile. "Milady? Good morning." Her face went through all shades of red in a matter of moments. Adrenaline pumping, like a boiled lobster, she jumped in the air embarrassed. Finally free, Wellington got up and stretched a bit.

Assam looked around, everyone's eyes were trained on her. Richard was grinning. Pekoe was also awakened by the commotion and stared at her, confused. Darjeeling's look, eyes sparkling with emotion, curved lips slightly twitching, made it obvious that she was comparing the situation to her English romance novels. Then a horrible headache hit Assam like a freight train. Being the only one who hadn't drunk any water, she was terribly hung over. She took a step back and lost balance, almost falling on the tea table, but Wellington managed to catch her by the waist. She was surprisingly light. "Careful," he mumbled, unexpectedly calm under the circumstances – being a commander required at least a modicum of cold blood.

Her mind froze for a few moments – they looked like partners in a waltz. Then realization returned. The stress was too much – between the emotion and the headache, Assam was overwhelmed. She turned red once more and fainted.

Wellington was still holding her. He was the only reason she wasn't lying in a pool of hot tea on the floor. "Err… guys?"

Richard erupted into laughter. "This was priceless!"

Darjeeling was applauding, tears in her eyes. "Bravo!"

"Roll credits," Castus said, deadpan, between sips of coffee.

"You are evil," mumbled Wellington.

"Don't worry, mate. The first steps are always hard. You'll make out sober in no time at all!"

"Oh, like you and Darjeeling did?" Wellington retorted, unaware that he had just inadvertently retaliated with the perfect comeback.

"We did?" Darjeeling asked confused.

"Yeah… about that, I might have exaggerated a little," confessed Richard.

"You did?" By then, Darjeeling seemed to be fully awake and aware. As Richard had assumed, the girl remembered every moment from the previous night, every word, every image, perfectly. She took a step towards him. "We have to remedy that!" She grabbed Richard by the shirt, dragged him down and planted a long and passionate kiss on his lips.

Everyone froze. Even Castus' stoic visage broke apart as he gaped wide-eyed at the scene. Silence dominated the room until Darjeeling lips retreated and she was able to finally speak. "We can't have you be a liar now, _can we?_"

Richard silently stared into the distance as if afflicted by shell shock. A smile slowly grew on his face. "No, ma'am," he confirmed.

* * *

For the return trip to the helipad, Richard offered to play the escort. Wellington and Assam were still somewhat awkward around each other, so he didn't want to push his luck, especially with things going so well. Last thing Richard wanted was to force too much stress on the budding romance.

The smell of flowers permeated the garden path and the sun smiled on the school ship, making the atmosphere pleasantly warm. Assam and Pekoe both had gotten a ways ahead, probably to give Richard and Darjeeling some space. "So, did you enjoy your evening, darling?" Having recovered from the shock and awe of her previous bluntness, Richard threw the girl a seductive look.

"Did you enjoy your morning?" Darjeeling asked.

Richard chuckled. "Very much so. We should do that more often."

Surprise became obvious on Darjeeling's face. She opened her mouth as if to say _ah_, but remained silent. She closed it and smiled, then squinted her eyes, giving the boy a piercing gaze. "We'll see about that," Darjeeling said.

Was she playing hard to get, Richard wondered. That wouldn't stop him. "Are you free this weekend?" he asked. "I'd love to take you out. I know this great place …"

"Hmm…" Darjeeling pondered. "Saturday night. Pick me up at seven. I'll be at the Tea Garden."

"Done!"

* * *

_AN: While re-reading for the 2017 improvement project, I realised that perhaps some of the things in this chapter are a bit too subtle. Here are some things you might have missed:_

_1\. Don't judge a book by its cover. Some of the things Richard does and says early in the chapter might appear far more devious than they actually are. It's only later into the chapter that things become clearer._

_2\. Darjeeling accepting Richard's drink in the end shows how much she trusts him. Don't forget that they've been meeting for about a month so far, and now Darjeeling is comfortable letting her guard down, even if she's responsible for Assam and Pekoe._


	4. Battle of Waterloo 2

_AN: __Edited as part of the 2017 improvement project. Most of note, I've changed the story a bit so that no official rules are broken (a rule that I was unaware of had been previously broken)._

* * *

The freezing wind chilled Wellington to the bone and sent large snowflakes flying into his eyes. He could only compare the blizzard with a strategic bombing raid against his face. Why did Pravda keep their school ship so far north? Even London's weather was bearable in comparison. Shockingly, every girl he saw wore the usual short skirt uniforms. Were they even human? That was no normal school. The boy sighed in relief when he finally entered the cosy interior, putting an end to the merciless assault of the cold against his body.

"Take a seat," Nonna said. She was a tall, elegant girl with long, straight black hair and a pair of light blue eyes. She moved with measured grace and spoke with a soothing voice, almost motherly. To Wellington, it felt uncanny.

"Peter. Darjeeling," Wellington nodded to the other two guests. They sat at a small round table with four chairs. To his left was the leader of Gordost's Senshado club, a boy he had met during the large party Eton had thrown. To his right, Darjeeling smiled brightly, taking the occasional sip from a teacup. As an introvert, he found the situation exhausting. Richard couldn't come, for whatever reason, so he had to handle it alone – an unfortunate scenario. "So, why are we all here?"

"I just dropped for an unexpected visit to my comrades. It's not that rare," Peter said. Wellington remembered the boy to be scarier, colder in tone and behaviour. For some reason, he felt brighter than usual – a matter of circumstance, perhaps. He was following Nonna with his gaze, and the girl seemed to return the look. There was something between them. Wellington thought that if he could notice it, Richard would be able to write an entire essay.

"I always drop by when Pravda is about to face an interesting opponent," Darjeeling said.

"So, I'm the only one who was invited?" Wellington asked.

"I think they want to know you better." Darjeeling took another sip of tea. "Wouldn't want to repeat the same mistakes as last year, right, Katyusha?" A tiny girl entered the room. She was minuscule, reaching Wellington's stomach at most.

"Napoleon!" Wellington said.

"Excuse me?" The girl looked confused. She had blonde hair and a pair of light blue eyes, a trait Wellington had found to be surprisingly common in Japanese people.

"I've read about you. You're not that bad a strategist, and given…" Wellington looked around. Perhaps it was not such a good idea mentioning her height. "…our upcoming match, you would make a good rival. So Napoleon is how I shall call you."

"I like it!" Darjeeling said. "Your sobriquets are positively fascinating! Dub Nonna next."

The black haired girl smiled faintly. She didn't seem to mind, which was good – Wellington didn't want to antagonize his hosts. "Well, if Katyusha is Napoleon, than Nonna must be Michel Ney!" Wellington said.

"And what does that make me?" Peter unexpectedly joined the game.

"I always thought you and your brother are like Lenin and Stalin." Wellington put up a forced smile.

"Not sure it fits…" Peter smiled back.

"We'll see if you're worthy to be called my rival," Katyusha declared, before sitting at the table as Nonna brought more tea and cookies. The room was silent for a moment. Wellington tasted the tea. It was inferior to what Eton had, but not the worst he'd drunk. Vaguely bitter, a bit astringent, obvious signs of over-infusion, and the flavour was almost non-existent – a no name brand, perhaps. Regardless, the smell, while plain, was still calming.

"So, I see that you survived the first match this time," Katyusha said to Darjeeling.

"Like I said before, Lady Luck is a fickle mistress. This time, she was on our side," Darjeeling said. Next to her, Nonna placed a jar of jam on the table. Wellington was baffled by it at first, before remembering that Russians usually drank their tea with it. "Thank you, Nonna," Darjeeling said.

"You're welcome." The tall girl reminded Wellington of Richard's maid – calm and elegant – but something told him Nonna was much more than that. He'd observed Pravda's previous battles. The girl was not a gunner he planned to underestimate.

"I do believe that it was more than luck that won you the day, milady," Wellington said, before raising his cup to his lips. Mid sip, he noticed Darjeeling trying to put a spoonful of jam into her teacup. "Oh, heavens no! Don't put jam into the tea. You'll ruin it," he said, almost instinctively.

The words were enough to stop the blonde in the middle of the act. "Ah, I keep forgetting."

Katyusha looked at them as if they both were wrong. "Do you two know nothing? You're supposed to take a spoonful of jam and _then_ drink the tea!" she explained.

Wellington snorted. He didn't take to condescending talk, unless he was doing it. "Don't teach an Englishman how to drink tea," he retorted. "Still, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. I'll indulge you." The boy took as spoon of jam then another sip. To be fair, it did improve the taste, but only because the tea was inferior in the first place.

Katyusha ate the jam in a hurry. She was like a child desperate for sweets, jam all around her mouth. Nonna stepped up and cleaned her with a napkin. "Don't do that!" the little girl cried. Wellington gave Darjeeling a confused look, but the girl seemed familiar with the scene. Compared to Nonna, Katyusha was a complete polar opposite. Besides her, she looked like a child with her mother. Even after such a short time spent around her, Wellington could confidently describe her as arrogant, childish and easily angered.

"So, will you practice this time?" Darjeeling asked. "Or do you want to save on fuel again?"

"We'll do some warm up exercise, maybe… Did you come here for such a trivial matter?"

"Not at all. I came for some of your delightful tea," Darjeeling said.

"Déjà vu," Nonna whispered.

Wellington fought back a grimace. He was hoping the girl had spoken in jest. She probably had, as Gloriana's tea was far better. "If you wanted good tea, you should have visited Eton."

"I heard that!" Katyusha got on top of her chair and pointed menacingly at Wellington. "I'll teach you what the best school in Japan is! You're not worthy of being my rival!"

"Oh my, I can't wait to see the match," Darjeeling said.

Wellington snorted. The little girl was getting on his nerves. "Don't worry, milady. We'll teach them some humility."

* * *

"'Join, see the world, meet girls,' a great motto, but while we get a ton of volunteers for matches, nobody comes to training. We have an army of inexperienced wannabe tankmen!" There were only a few days until Eton's first official match, but Wellington wasn't too optimistic.

"Well, there are no girls during training," Richard said.

"Pravda will be a tough match. This is a horrible first draw. Napoleon is no idiot, even if she drinks tea with jam…"

"Katyusha?" Richard chuckled. "I see what you did there."

"A Cromwell, a Challenger and a bunch of Crusaders against T-34s, an IS-2m and a KV-2. Sharpe will have his work cut for him."

Eton had only a few permanent Senshado members. The rest were volunteers from various clubs. However, the club was smart enough to give roles based on talent, rather than shove entire clubs into a tank regardless of their personal skill. The unfortunate consequence was that morale and cooperation suffered. Some crews didn't even know each other's names, but the problem posed by the lack of experience was somewhat alleviated.

"He'll manage," Richard said.

"Where the bloody hell are the others? It's getting late." Wellington's voice echoed through the empty room. Only Richard had arrived on time for the club meeting – a common occurrence. It was one of the few times when Wellington was glad his friend was a perfectionist – he liked punctuality.

"I don't know about everyone else, but my cousin… he probably just got up from his afternoon nap. You know Maurice…"

"Montgomery, if you please…" a voice mumbled from the door. A freshman student entered the room and dragged his feet towards the closest chair. With eyes barely open and dishevelled hair, he looked as if someone had forced him to wake up after a night of poor sleep.

"It baffles me how popular your nicknames are…" Richard mumbled.

"You're late, Monty. Take a seat."

The boy pushed his black hair out of his eyes and sat on an armchair before dozing off. Everyone was used to his phlegmatic antics. He always spoke in weak and unmodulated voice, almost lethargic, as if half-asleep, so his comments were often ignored. When he paid attention, though, he became a valuable asset. "That only leaves–"

A knock on the door, another boy entered the room. With glossy blond hair, swept-back with hair gel, and blue eyes, he held a German Field Marshal's Cap in his left hand. "_Herr Kommandant?"_

"Guderian! Finally!" Wellington cried.

"Sorry for the delay," the boy said. Behind him, a third student came in.

_"Salvete!"_

"August, what in the name of God are you dressed into? Is that a skirt?! And sandals!?" Wellington looked at the boy baffled.

"You are mistaken, _Legatus_. This is my _pteruges_ and _caligae_. _Ave!_" The boy explained and did the Roman salute. The explanation, however, fell short. Wellington remained just as baffled.

"August, you look just like the Augustus of Prima Porta statue!" Richard said.

_"Gratias tibi ago!"_

"I'm guessing that's some kind of Roman uniform or something," Richard said.

"You are correct, _Cor Leonem_."

"Don't call me that."

"Do you like my red _focale_?" Augustus said, pointing at the scarf tied around his neck.

Wellington's brow furrowed. The silly exchange was pointless and they were losing time. "Argh, enough of this! I need to brief you! We don't have all day!"

_"Ita vero, Legatus!"_

"Well, at least he didn't bring a _gladius_," Richard said. "Or a shield."

"Of course not, what use would those have in a tank battle?" said August. He took the _Galea_ helmet he had on his head off and sat down.

The clock showed 4:14 PM. They were fourteen minutes behind schedule.

"Well then, I'll be on my way," Richard said. "You no longer need me to keep you company, and I have an appointment with Darjeeling."

"A what?" Wellington asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"We'll exchange swordsmanship tips. I'll teach her kendo and she'll teach me fencing."

Wellington sighed. "I don't even… whatever." Richard waved and left the room. He and Darjeeling had gotten quite close since the events of the infamous soiree. Things weren't the same between Wellington and Assam either. Richard's plan to stir things up had worked perfectly, although its exact effects were not yet obvious. But Wellington had bigger fish to fry for the moment.

"So what is the plan, _Herr Kommandant?_" Heinz asked. He had a subtle German accent. Franz Oskar Vogt was his real name, captain of the Historical Costume Club and second best strategist in the Senshado club. The title had become contested recently, after Monty's arrival, but he wasn't about to give it up without a fight. He had to live up to his name.

"I trust you've all watched Pravda's match with Ooarai," Wellington started. "As you saw, Katyusha, or Napoleon, as I shall call her from now on, is not an incapable strategist – at least not as incapable at the other schools – and Nonna, whom I shall call Ney, is a capable sniper. So, why did they lose?"

"They gave Ooarai three hours to surrender," mumbled Monty. "Vanity, I'd say."

"Correct, Montgomery!"

"Oh, the primadonna is awake, _ja_?" Heinz said.

"I'm too tired to fight you, wehraboo…" Monty yawned audibly.

"Gentlemen, not now. I'm just about to reveal my master plan."

"He started it," Monty said.

Heinz chose not to answer to the attack. "What do you have in mind, _Kommandant?"_

"An opportunity that Ooarai failed to see. We'll crush them like we crushed Boney at Waterloo."

* * *

A ZIL-157 truck with a BM-13 Katyusha rocket launcher on its back drove through the snow up to the gathering point. Wellington and his squadron leaders were already present. Katyusha and Nonna got out of the truck and approached them.

"Pravda's captain and vice-captain," Wellington introduced them.

"Wait, that tiny thing's a vice-captain?" Monty asked.

"No, that's Napoleon, the captain."

"What?! She's a senior? But she's smaller than me!"

Katyusha looked at Eton's lineup and started laughing. "You brought these tanks as a joke, didn't you? History is repeating itself."

"Make sure it doesn't repeat all the way," Nonna calmly suggested.

"Napoleon, nice to meet you. I'm Richard Stanfield, the club's captain!" Given their difference in height, Richard was forced to look down at her, but it was better than squatting to get to her level.

"Nonna!" At command, the girl promptly grabbed Katyusha and placed her on her shoulders. "All of you are below me, be it in tanks, skill or height."

"This is a joke, _ja?"_ Heinz asked. "She's sitting on her shoulders."

"I heard that! How dare you insult me?! You'll be purged!"

"Oh, for a second there I thought she'd demand satisfaction," Richard said.

"I'm not talking to you! You didn't accept my invitation. I'm only talking to mister frowny over there!" she cried, pointing at Wellington. "If you're nice and bow before me I might accept you as my rival!" Other than his frown deepening a little, the boy looked unimpressed. "Let's go, Nonna. Bye-bye, _Vatrushka_!"

_"Dosvedanya," _Nonna said.

Wellington raised an eyebrow. "What did she call me?"

"I think it's a Russian dish or something," Richard said.

"What is wrong with these people?" asked Heinz.

"I hope that the irony of asking that while dressed in a historically accurate Wehrmacht uniform for the purpose of a sport match is not lost to you…" Richard mumbled.

Wellington sighed, his frown renewed. "I don't know what their problem is, but they'll fear us after this day."

* * *

"_This_ was your glorious plan?! We're in the same position Ooarai was!" Eton had taken out the enemy KV-2 and a couple of T-34s at the loss of most of their Crusaders and were pinned down in the same abandoned building Ooarai had been in the previous tournament. The situation was eerily similar to the one Ooarai had found themselves in the previous year, except Eton had even less tanks.

"Calm yourself, Sharpe. It's all part of the plan," Wellington said.

"You sound like the Joker," Richard chuckled.

"This will be my Waterloo."

"So what, we'll wait for the Prussians to come and save our asses?" Sharpe asked.

"No. Today I will be both Wellington and Blucher. Boney will learn her lesson once and for all."

The familiar ringtone "Rule, Britannia!" echoed in the cold empty building. Wellington grabbed his mobile. "Go ahead!"

"_Sahib_ Wellington! We're by the wrecked KV-2. The enemy has surrounded your building." After his Crusader parked inside the abandoned church, Gandhi was sent by Wellington to scout the enemy. "Napoleon and Ney are straight across from you." The young Indian boy relayed the enemy positions in detail. Katyusha wouldn't make the same mistake as before. She had her flag tank positioned right behind the IS-2 and surrounded by four more T-34s. The same insane strategy that netted Ooarai victory would not be possible. A direct attack would have been suicide, and with the flag tank heavily defended, there was no point to attempt a breakthrough. The situation seemed bleak.

"So, what now?" asked Castus. "Do we do the Anglerfish Dance?"

"Now, we wait," Wellington said. Just as he finished his sentence, a freshman from Pravda entered the building. She held a white flag. "Ah, just on time."

* * *

The cold wind blew the snow from the ground, forming white twisters across the battlefield. A storm was coming. The girls from Pravda gathered around their fires to dance and have fun for the three hours offered to Eton to surrender. Nonna wiped Katyusha mouth. She had just finished eating a warm meal.

"I can do it myself!" Katyusha cried. "Thanks for the meal." The girl yawned and stretched her short arms. "I can't wait to win. We'll have those boys weed our school for months! Or maybe tend our wheat fields! Or dig up our potatoes! Or everything!"

"You gave the enemy three hours again," said Nonna. "Are you sure that was wise?" In contrast to Katyusha's high pitched voice that sounded like cold wind blowing through the cracks, Nonna's was calm and soothing, warm even. The usual motherly gaze with which she beheld her schoolmate, however, was replaced by a more serious, questioning glance.

"They're even less of a threat than Ooarai was," Katyusha said. "They already lost most of their tanks. And to think that _Vatrushka_ wanted me to call him my rival…" A childlike laughter came from Katyusha's lips, though the arrogance behind it made it sound more eerie that the pitch of her voice suggested. "The audacity!"

Nonna's smile returned. "You just want to eat and sleep, don't you?"

"No! I gave them time to surrender because I have a big heart!" Katyusha declared.

"As big as the West Siberian Plain, right?"

"Yes!"

"And just as cold."

"Shut up! I'm taking a nap." Katyusha grabbed her blanket and lay down on her improvised bed. She closed her eyes and waited for her friend to sing her usual lullaby – the one that always put her to sleep in mere moments. That didn't happen, however. Before Nonna could open her mouth, a set of explosions, like firecrackers in the distance, made Katyusha jump back to her feet. "What's going on?" Katyusha cried. "The enemy?"

"They haven't moved from the building. This is not an attack," said Nonna. She looked with her binoculars towards the abandoned structure Eton was holding up in. No movement was visible. A bad feeling crept in the back of her mind.

"Commander! One of the T-34s is on fire!" a girl's voice said over the radio.

"What? What did you do?" Katyusha wouldn't get her nap. She was furious. "Nonna!" Her larger schoolmate lifted her on the shoulders. "Forward!"

* * *

For one hour and a half, the Eton boys stood around doing nothing. Heinz and his club played cards, while Wellington's crew sat in their tank in silence. From time to time, Sharpe would walk to the entrance and peek outside. "So, what is your plan again?"

"Patience, Sharpe. It's almost time," Wellington said. As if on command, his phone started beeping. "It's time."

"For what?"

Wellington put his mobile up to his ear. "Gandhi, are you ready?"

"Yes, _Sahib_ Wellington!"

"Good, wait for my command." The glorious strategist turned his attention to the boys in the building. "Everyone, get in your tanks!"

"But we still have one and a half hours," said Sharpe.

"Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected," Wellington said. The gunner finally understood. "Gandhi, deploy the decoy in two minutes!"

The boys got into their tanks and started the engines. The once silent building vibrated with the familiar sound of the Rolls-Royce Meteor.

"So what's with the decoy?" asked Sharpe. "And why am I the only one who doesn't know anything about this plan?"

"I don't know either," said Castus. "And I don't care."

"Firecrackers and a smoke bomb. It should get Pravda's attention," Wellington explained. "We don't want little girls to be running around the flag tank when we put a shell in it."

"Oh, so you _do _have a heart!" Sharpe said.

A series of sharp explosions echoed in the distance. "Wait for it," said Wellington.

"They took the bait, _Sahib!_ They're running to the T-34 to the left of your position. Their main force is clear!"

"Roger!" Wellington closed his phone. "Heinz, have Tadatsune put smoke to the left of their main force. We'll charge in and take the kill!"

_"Ja, Kommandant!"_

"Roll out!" Wellington ordered.

_"Panzer vor!"_

* * *

"What happened?" Katyusha flailed her arms at the freshmen from atop Nonna's shoulders.

A small trail of smoke was coming from underneath one of the T-34s, but the series of small explosions had stopped. "I think there's something wrong with the engine," one of the girls said.

"That sounded like firecrackers," said Nonna. Katyusha jumped from Nonna's back and looked under the tank. The smoke had almost cleared.

"What is this?" Katyusha went on all fours under the tank. "Looks like burnt paper." An explosion sounded in the distance.

"No one's at the flag tank," Nonna realized. "It's a trap!"

Another explosion echoed in the distance.

"Pravda's flag tank has been eliminated! Eton wins!" the referee announced.

Katyusha crawled from under the T-34. Tears were running down her cheeks, she started sobbing. "But we gave them three hours! They cheated!" she jumped on Nonna and shoved her face in the girl's chest. Her friend hugged her tightly.

"There, there, Katyusha…" Nonna took Katyusha in her arms and carried her towards the flag tank. In the distance, a smoke screen was slowly dissipating under the blow of the snowy wind. The battle was over before the storm could arrive.

At the flag tank, August was waving Eton's standard on top of the T-34. The Cruiser Challenger was mere meters away from the Russian tank, its smoking 17 pounder almost kissing the armour of Pravda's flag tank. Wellington waited in his command seat.

Nonna wiped Katyusha's tears. Still whimpering, the small girl pointed furiously at Eton's strategist. "_Va– vatrushka,_ you cheated!" the girl cried. "I gave you three hours! Why didn't you tell me you weren't going to surrender?"

"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake," Wellington said.

"That's Napoleon Bonaparte, right?" Castus guessed.

"_You_ gave me three hours. _I_ didn't give you three hours. I broke no official rules. I did not cheat."

Katyusha blew her nose in a small handkerchief. "You– you're worthy! Not even I expected something so devious! _Vatrushka_, I demand a rematch!"

"And you will have it," said Wellington. "But not before our new batch of tanks arrive…" he mumbled to himself.

"So, who's next?" asked Heinz.

"Kuromorimine. The elder Nishizumi," answered Richard.

"I heard they disinherited the younger daughter."

"Shiho Nishizumi, a tyrant of a woman. I call her Hitler."

"It fits her," said Richard. "For the first time I actually agree with your nicknames."

"Maho and Erika. They're like Manstein and Keitel."

"Ah, good comparison, _Kommandant!"_

"Get down here and shake my hand!" Katyusha cried, interrupting their dialogue.

"Of course, where are my manners?" Wellington was pleasantly surprised that his opponents hadn't taken defeat too badly. He jumped from the tank and landed right in front of Katyusha and offered her a handshake. "It was an honour facing you, Napoleon."

Katyusha looked back at Nonna for a second, but changed her mind before speaking. She looked Wellington up in the eye, grabbed his hand and shook it. "Same, Wellington!"


	5. Interlude

_AN: __Edited as part of the 2017 improvement project. v2 (13/08/17)._

* * *

Earl Grey took a sip of her tea and looked out the window. The Ark Royal was painted orange by the sunset. It made her feel melancholic. "I hear Darjeeling and your Lionheart are getting along quite well."

Wellington couldn't stop a smirk from overtaking his lips. "That's an understatement," he said. "For some reason I expected a love triangle between you, her and Richard, but that's obviously not going to happen."

Earl Grey giggled at the thought. She turned her gaze back towards her guest. "I'm sorry, but I'm not the slightest bit interested in him. Don't get me wrong, he's a pleasant individual, worthy of respect, but we're just not compatible."

Unwilling to scan her as intensely while she was looking back, Wellington focused on the tea instead. Not as good as the one he had at Eton, the aromatic liquid was still far better than what he'd drunk at Pravda. "Yeah, he figured that out himself. If I understood correctly, you lost interest after he started talking about all his hobbies. I ought to congratulate you. Few manage to resist his charms."

Earl Grey smiled at the boy, though Wellington was unsure what meaning was hidden behind it. They got along quite well, but it was painfully obvious that the girl was out of his league. She was, perhaps, more charismatic than even Richard. "He is a bit too superficial for me. He's excessively interested in frivolous modern commodities such as sports cars and bikes, and I find his… obsession with perfection to be jarring."

Whatever nervousness Wellington felt dissipated as he burst into laughter. "Can't argue with that!" The girl had taken the words straight out of his mouth.

"Darjeeling is so much better for him. They are so much alike – both excellent at anything, matches only for each other… and they share many random enthusiasms," Earl Grey said.

A deep breath helped Wellington recover from the previous fit of laughter. "I take that they have your blessing."

"Not that they need it…"

Wellington took another sip of the tea. He let its flavour tickle his senses for a moment before continuing. "How in the name of God did you manage to get him talking?" he finally asked. "He's a great listener and knows to play it to his advantage. Normally he'd have you talk about yourself, not the other way around."

Earl Grey's lips curved even further – the same innocent smile Richard used. "Every lady has her secrets."


	6. Relationship Counseling

_AN: __Edited as part of the 2017 improvement project. v2 (13/08/17)._

* * *

"I don't understand!" Wellington sat in his armchair, a pronounced frown on his face. He stared at the wall, his mind overwhelmed with theories – one more unlikely than the other. A weird buzzing noise, some insect, moved up and down and around him, preventing him from focusing. Behind, outside the open windows, the sound of the wind, normally refreshing and relaxing, clawed at his senses, further distracting him. Almost furious, he got up, mind still racing, and slammed the windows shut. Silence. Even the insect was gone, probably banished outside. He dropped back into his armchair with a long and excruciating sigh. Finally silence, at least, but he was no closer to a conclusion… Who was he kidding? There was no logical explanation. Another sigh left his chest. "Women are such incomprehensible things."

As if summoned by Wellington's mention of ladies, Richard burst into the room. "Mate, what's going on? What's wrong?"

Wellington's frown deepened for a moment. There was no way that was a coincidence. Something told him that his friend had been eavesdropping. With a third sigh in less than a minute, the boy's head fell onto his desk with an audible thump. "I don't have patience for your antics, Richard…" he mumbled. A fourth sigh followed, as if he was trying to beat a record. Then something occurred to him. "Unless…" He raised his head and looked straight at his old friend, his frown gone. "You might actually be of use for once," he said, his eyes narrowed. Talking to himself wasn't going to solve any problems. Richard was his best bet when it came to understanding women, if such a thing was even possible.

Richard's face betrayed surprise – he hadn't expected the glorious strategist to be so cooperative – but he quickly regained his composure and pressed the advantage. "Here, lie down on the couch. Talk to me," he said with his usual smile.

Wellington complied, getting up from his desk and sitting as requested, though not without reluctance. "You're enjoying this too much."

Richard didn't answer, instead using the time to quietly install himself the in armchair next to the couch. He had realised that teasing Wellington was not the best idea given the boy's current mood. After a few moments of silence, when he was certain that his friend was comfortable, he refreshed his smile and started the session. "Go on. What's wrong?"

Wellington hesitated for a moment, but he reminded himself that there was no better way to get to the bottom of the mystery. "I went to the Ark Royal to discuss tactics with Earl Grey… you know, like I do occasionally…" he said. "Everything was fine, but on my way out I stumbled upon Assam." Wellington paused for a moment, more hesitation in his heart. He found the situation to be surprisingly difficult to explain, for some reason. "She behaved strangely cold towards me. Up until now she was all shy and girly, but for some reason she just–"

"Wait. Back up," Richard interrupted. "So you land on the Ark Royal. What do you do next?"

"I go straight to Earl Grey. That's why I'm there," Wellington said.

"How often have you visited the Ark Royal recently?"

"About four times, I think."

"And how often have you gone to Assam as well?"

Wellington's expression went from confusion to realization and finally to disappointment in a matter of moments. He slapped his face audibly. "Shit…"

"Exactly. I'm willing to bet she thinks there's something between you and Grey. Either that or she simply is angry you haven't paid any attention to her. Don't lead a girl on then suddenly give up." Wellington put his palm on his face. How could he not notice something so obvious? Whether he wanted it or not, he had indeed done just that. He had to make up his mind and give her an answer.

Richard's phone rang. "Yes?" He turned to Wellington. "Give me a moment." Richard left the room as suddenly as he had entered, leaving Wellington with his own thoughts. "Yes, darling. How are you?"

"Are we still up for that basketball match?" Darjeeling asked.

"One on one? Of course." Richard grinned, although the girl couldn't see him over the phone. "The Basketball Club is off to training camp, so it will just be us."

"I don't mind," Darjeeling said. "Oh, and another thing… It's about Assam and Wellington."

* * *

"And that's why we'll face Eton in a basketball match next week," said Darjeeling. "I heard only Richard plays often. I'll visit this weekend to see exactly how good he is." Ever since she started visiting Eton, the girl had started talking a lot more than usual. That applied for her juniors as well, which was the most obvious with the normally quiet Assam. For some reason, however, she was strangely silent that evening. Darjeeling had picked up on it. "Is everything well, Assam?"

Orange Pekoe scanned her friend as well, but she didn't notice anything different. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," Assam said. Her look was slightly less focused than usual, and her smile fainter. It was too subtle, though, for Pekoe to observe. The whole situation confused her, until she realized that Darjeeling was onto something.

"How are things with Wellington?" Darjeeling asked, straight to the point. Assam flinched. She looked away. For a few moments, nobody uttered a thing. When Assam looked back she realized she had inadvertently given herself away. Darjeeling was resting her head in her hands, eyes fully focused on Assam, a bright smile on her lips perfectly hiding her concern. "Tell me everything," she said.

* * *

"Who was it?" asked Wellington. Richard closed the door behind him after he came back into the room. He looked up at Wellington as if he hadn't heard his question. The boy had moved from the couch back to his desk and was fiddling with a pen.

"Oh, it was my darling… err, I mean Darjeeling." Richard rubbed his forehead, then looked through the window into the distance.

"You seem off. Is something wrong?" Wellington asked.

"Hush, Adrian. I'm trying to think."

"Wellington!"

Richard took a deep breath, but remained silent.

"Something wrong with Darjeeling? Things aren't going as planned?" Wellington asked.

Richard shook his head. Still staring into the horizon, he let out a sigh, a rare thing for him. "Everything's fine," he said. "We've been on countless dates. I fall in love with her more by the minute. She's great. That's not the problem…" His eyes slowly descended until his gaze pointed at the floor and started chewing on his lip. "I'm just trying to figure out what your next move should be."

His patience completely expended, Wellington slapped both hands on the table and stood up. "That's it. I can't stand this anymore. I'll just go straight to her and tell her the whole truth!"

"What?" Richard jumped. He gaped at Wellington as the boy walked by him, too surprised to act. "Are you insane, mate? You need subtlety! Tact! You can't just barge in and–"

"I'm going!" Wellington darted for the door. He pulled out his phone. "Get a chopper ready. ASAP."

"Bloody hell, this won't end well! I'm coming with you!" Richard said.

Wellington stopped at the door. "No. Actually, this is a bad idea." He pulled his phone out again. "Cancel that last order!"

"Make up your mind!" Richard cried.

"Get out, I have a call to make!"

"You're tearing me apart, Adrian!"

"Wellington! Out!" The boy pushed Richard out the door. "And no eavesdropping!" He slammed the door shut and walked back to his desk. He sat on his armchair and sighed. For a couple of minutes, there was only silence in the room and his mind. He never expected it would come to that. Sharpe was right back at the party, he no longer had the luxury to be direct and tactless. He took his phone and searched the contact list. A deep breath, he pressed call.

"Hello?" Assam's voice sounded from the phone. It seemed less cold than when Wellington last heard her. He hesitated for a moment.

"Good evening, milady. Do you have a moment?" the boy finally spoke, trying to keep his calm. In his mind he cursed at his inability to stay cool like his best friend could. But at the very least he could imagine he was solving a tactical problem. That would keep his mind steady.

"Good evening…"

"There are a couple of things I would like to discuss with you. Are you free this weekend?"

* * *

The conversation didn't take long, and immediately after, Wellington left his office. Richard was waiting for him a couple of meters down the hallway. "I wasn't eavesdropping," he quickly defended.

"I believe you," Wellington said. He walked past at a brisk pace, without as much as turning his head. Richard followed, a concerned look on his face – almost broke into a jog, trying to get in front of his friend, to see if anything was discernible from his expression.

"So, what are you going to do?" Richard asked.

Wellington upped his pace, determined to stay one step ahead. He knew damn well what his friend's game was, but that wasn't why he was almost running. Hiding wasn't his intent. He just wasn't in the mood for questioning and wanted to leave the premises as fast as possible. "You should trust me more. I'll take her out this weekend and solve this whole mess," he said.

Between the darkness of the hallway and Wellington's own apparent attempts to hide it, Richard couldn't figure out what the boy was thinking. He clicked his tongue, though it was barely audible over the noise made by Wellington throwing open the door that led outside. Richard stopped, just in front of the building. "Will you ask her out, or will you let her down?" he cried. His tone was starting to show a certain loss of patience – not angry as much as pleading for an answer.

Wellington stopped a few feet away. "Technically, I've already asked her out," he said without turning.

"You know what I mean, Adrian."

"Welling…" The boy stopped mid word and sighed. He turned around and looked his friend in the eye for a second, before sighing again and bringing his palm to his face. A second was all Richard needed… The setting sun's light shining off his Wellington's skin had cleared all obfuscation, making it possible for Richard to perfectly read his friend for the first time since they had left his office. What he discerned brought no relief. Nothing but a veil of apathy mixed with mild annoyance covered the glorious strategist's visage. Wellington looked up again. "Just drop it, Richard. I'm not in the mood."

Richard clenched his teeth. "Don't throw away this opportunity, mate. This girl likes you and whether you admit it or not, you like her back."

Wellington shook his head and chuckled. The faint smile that graced his lips did nothing to cover the look of disappointment in his eyes. "I guess you can't always read me like a book, can you, Richard?"


	7. To Swat a Mammoth

_Author's Note: I updated this chapter's ending. Everything else is unchanged._

* * *

Clear skies for as far as the eye can see, a beautiful morning greeted Eton's squadrons. Their second battle in the tournament was about to begin. They faced Kuromorimine and their German tanks, champions nine years in a row until they were defeated by Pravda and later Ooarai.

"We start by going straight to the city?" asked Richard.

"Yes. I want to humiliate that Maus they so love. Wipe that grin off Keitel's face."

Richard looked at deep blue of the sky. "A storm is coming. I can smell it in the air."

"I know. I've seen the forecast. We have to get the Crusaders on the hill until then."

* * *

"All Blue leaders, report!" Wellington ordered over the radio.

"This is Crusader 1. Montgomery should be on top of the building any moment now. Out."

"This is Crusader 2. Crusader 3 and we are in position. They haven't seen us go up the hill. We're currently deploying. Out."

"This is Crusader 4. Crusader 10 is out, but we and 5 through 9 are still baiting the enemy. Be advised, two Tiger IIs and two Panthers have stopped their pursuit and are heading your way. Over."

"Roger that, Crusader 4. We'll handle them. Keep up the good work. Over."

"Wilco. Crusader 4, out."

"Monty here. I'm in position. I've spotted the Maus. It's pretty far, but the Panzer III is running towards it. Over."

"Roger, Monty. Maintain position and keep us posted. Over."

"Why did I have to climb a building of all people? Over."

"Because you're of no use to us manning the Cromwell's machinegun and we don't need extra squadron leaders for now. Over."

"Playing bait wouldn't have been fun, but I would have loved staying with Crusader 2…" No answer came from the radio. "You just don't want to give me a break, do you?" The radio remained silent. "Fine! You slave driver… Monty, out."

The sky was gradually darkening. The storm was close. Wellington and Heinz chased Kuromorimine's Panzer III through the city. The enemy thought they were dragging them into a trap, but Wellington had posted a Crusader Mark II to keep an eye out. He specifically had it manned by 5 crew members so that the hull gunner could climb the tallest building in the city and provide intelligence.

"Monty here. The Maus is on your third left, reversing. You have one minute. Out."

The Panzer III slowed down. From on top of it, its commander looked to the left as they passed the intersection and smiled. The streets were tight, with buildings leading straight into the road. Wellington didn't have a direct view of the enemy super heavy tank, but he knew it was there.

"Richard, stop!" Wellington shouted. The Cromwell and the Challenger's tracks grinded to a halt. "Sharpe, Panzer III, Fire!"

"On the way!"

The Challenger's 17 pounder spit an AP shell and hit the Panzer III in straight in the rear, taking it out. A low rumbled echoed from around the corner. A large fuel container slowly emerged, attached to the rear of a huge hull. The Maus was there.

"Here it comes," Wellington said from on top of the Challenger. "Load APDS!"

_"Feuer Frei!"_

_"Ute!"_

The Cromwell fired at the Maus's fuel tank, blowing it to pieces, but the Ordnance QF 75 mm was useless against the monstrous armor of the Maus.

"Cease fire!" ordered Wellington. "You're wasting ammo."

"Up!" said Castus.

"Wait for my command. You know where to aim, Sharpe."

"Yes."

"Wait for it… Fire!" Wellington shouted just as the Maus' hull side aligned at a perfect 90-degree angle.

"On the way!" The 17 pounder's armour-piercing discarding sabot could penetrate 204 mm of armor at 500 m at a 30-degree angle. It was more than enough to penetrate the Maus' sides and rear. Smoke puffed from the engine and it slowed to a halt. The white flag popped up. The Maus was out.

"That was easy," said Sharpe.

"Monty, where is the enemy unit that's coming for us? Over."

"They're coming through sector five. Over."

"Roger. Stay where you are and keep your eyes open. Out."

"What?! It will rain soon! You expect me to sit on top of a building. I might get hit by lighting!" As if provoked by Monty's complaints, a flash of lighting lit the distant sky.

"Negative. The building has a lightning rod."

"But I'll get soaked!"

"You can hide once we get out of the town. Out!" Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm was still far, but they didn't have much time. "Crusader 1, hold position. Bait squadron, lead the enemy to the hill. Out." Every Eton element radioed in to confirm their orders. Things were going as planned. "Move out!" Wellington ordered.

_"Jawohl!"_

* * *

"Fire!"

"On the way!"

The sound of the 17 pounder echoed through the air accompanied by the roar of thunder and rain. It was pouring. Wellington's Challenger, Heinz's Cromwell and two Crusaders were all that was left of Eton's tank group. They were pinned down on a hill and surrounded by Kuromorimine's Panzers. The bait maneuver had gone disastrously wrong. The second the large Crusader squadron turned, the formation shattered. They crashed into each other and made a mess of the situation. Kuromorimine simply shot at sitting ducks.

"I'm soaked, but I got back to Crusader 1. I hope you don't expect me to come to your rescue. Out," Monty said over the radio.

"No. You did your job. Take a well-deserved rest. We got this," Wellington shouted over the deafening sound of cannon fire and explosions.

"Commander! Crusader 2 here. We're out of ammo. Over."

"Don't worry, we only need to hold out until they're where we want them. Over."

"Sir, yes, sir! Out."

"Let's see how you're going to get us out of this one, Wellington," Sharpe said as Castus reloaded.

"Up!"

"Fire!"

"On the way!" The 17 pounder spit another AP in the direction of Kuromorimine's tanks.

"That's why I like keep you in suspense! You ask the right questions at the right time!" Wellington grabbed the radio. "The enemy is right where I want them."

"Yeah, we're surrounded. That simplifies things," Sharpe interrupted.

"Everyone switch to high explosive and aim at exactly ten meters below the ridge. Wait for my command to fire." The Kuromorimine advance was slow. German tracks were not very good in a wet environment. Several tanks were obviously stuck, their tracks probably jammed by the mud.

"Crusader 2. Ready!"

"Three here. Ready!"

_"Einsatzbereit!"_

"Fire!" A massive explosion, an orchestra of detonations, the four high explosive shells had hit something. A chain reaction, like an entire minefield being set off, the thundering roar silenced even the storm.

Sharpe's ears were ringing. "What the hell was that?"

"Take a look," Wellington said, smug satisfaction on his face. "It worked."

An avalanche of mud crashed onto Kuromorimine's tanks, washing them away like a waterfall of clay. The entire hill came down on them, swallowing tanks whole. Nishizumi Miho had been disinherited for abandoning her tank to save another from drowning. Now the entire school knew what it felt like to drown. Poetic justice, thought Wellington.

"I've had Crusader 1 and 2 bury most of their HE shells in the ground," Wellington explained. "This area has constant rain. Even without the storm, this would have been decisive. As it is, it's devastating. Now we only need to pick them off."

The girls from Kuromorimine started emerging form their tanks, covered in mud. The avalanche was big enough to disable all tanks. The luckiest only had their engines drowned. The unluckiest had their tanks buried all the way up to the commander's hatch. Regardless, the stun didn't seem to hurt anyone.

"Yuk! I'm covered in muck!" one of the girls cried.

"I find this to be strangely sexy." The boys that manned the Crusaders gaped at the scene. The high school girls were slipping on the mud and making a mess of themselves.

"Don't just stand there! Go give them a hand!" Richard shouted. It was the first in a long time he was frowning. He jumped out of the Challenger and, completely disregarding his uniform, slid down the hill through the mud. He rushed to the first tank he saw to help the girls out.

"Bloody hell," Wellington muttered. He had no choice but to follow. He jumped from on top of the turret and landed into the mud with a splash. His uniform was ruined. He took a step and slipped, falling on his back into the mud. "Bollocks!"

Every boy from Eton followed on Richard's footsteps, some more successfully than Wellington, others not. In less than a minute, the boys were swarming the muddy terrain helping girls left and right.

"Damn it!" Erika shouted from her tank's command seat.

"Commander, please get out," one of her crew cried form inside the tank. "Mud is getting in!"

"You cheats! Woah!" Richard grabbed the girl by the arm and lifter her from the tank. Castus reached inside the tank and grabbed two girls simultaneously.

"You OK?" Richard asked. Erika's curses ended abruptly when she noticed the boy. She stared for a few seconds, then her pale skin turned red. She started flailing her hands confused then slipped on the mud. Richard grabbed her before she fell into the mire. Even more confused, she looked up at her savior. The proximity of their faces made her panic and she started struggling again, only to fall face first into the mud. Richard helped her up again. This time, the color of her skin was indistinguishable under the thick layer of wet ground.

Wellington went straight for Maho's Tiger. At least if he ruined his uniform he would get the change to gloat. Kuromorimine's commander seemed surprisingly clean, even if her tank was completely buried in mud.

"Manstein."

"Wellington."

"I see you are fine," Wellington said.

"A dirty move," the girl said coldly.

"Yes, dirty indeed," Wellington said. He looked around at the mass of muddy people. Eton students were still helping the girls out of the mess. Some of the boys was bound to get a date after all that. "Taken out in the second match. You dear mother is probably outraged. Will she disinherit you as well?" Maho did not answer. "Well, since you're all fine, I shall take my leave."

"Gordost will win," Maho finally spoke. "That much is certain. What hope do you have against them? Your dirty tricks won't always save you."

"We'll see about that, Miss Manstein." Wellington turned his back and walked away. "Send my regards to Hitler. Tell her that her days are numbered. There's a new champion in town."

* * *

"That was bloody dangerous! You crossed the line, Adrian!" Richard yelled.

Wellington didn't flinch. "You brought me in to achieve victory…" Wellington said. "At any cost."

"I never said 'at any cost'," Richard growled. He paused for a moment and sighed. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, but please be more careful. I don't want anybody to get hurt."

"Especially girls, right?" Wellington mocked. Richard opened his mouth to retort, but his friend didn't allow. "I had Monty calculate the volume of dislocated ground after 6 hours of downpour."

Richard stared wide-mouthed at Wellington for a second. "What?! That's the mother of all estimations. Doesn't even make sense!"

"Richard, you wanted me to assure Eton will become and stay a champion. Staying won't be hard. By next year we'll have enough tanks and trained crews to handle it. But this year will be hard. I have to use every trick I can think about."

The blond boy looked at his friend with concern. "You'll run out of tricks..." he muttered.

"Don't worry, I have just enough to last me this tournament."


	8. Red Dawn

"Mate, you and Sharpe are a bit thin. You should work out a little."

"Richard, for the thousand time, you need to be well build because you handled those bloody steering sticks and Castus is a loader. Sharpe is a gunner and I am a commander. We don't need too much muscle."

"But it would make you look better."

"All the strength I need is here." Wellington pointed at his head. He took pride in his mind, more so than most other Eton students. He wasn't the top of his class because he found many of the classes to be useless on the long run and focused on other things.

"What about the girls?" Richard asked. Wellington frowned. It always came down to that.

"If I go to the gym with you, will you shut up?"

"Maybe…"

"Fine." Wellington sighed.

"Great! I can be your teacher! Call me _sensei_!"

"No."

"So, how was the date with Assam?" asked Richard. His humorous act had completely vanished. He suddenly looked concerned.

"I had to postpone it."

"What!?"

"The inevitability of facing Gordost finally hit me. Frankly, I was hoping Anzio would defeat them. After they absorbed Mihai Eminescu Boys High School, the new co-ed Anzio became greater than the sum of its parts. But not even August's old friend could stop the red tide… The Duce and the Conducător failed. We must not."

All that time, Richard gaped at Wellington, with his mouth wide open. "You bloody bastard! How could you do that to the poor girl?" Richard erupted. "I don't even…"

"Elvis has entered the building!" A chubby boy with a camouflage colored cap burst into the room.

Wellington sighed relived at the sight of his savior. "Patton. As subtle as ever, I see," he said. "I'll talk to her after we beat Gordost," Wellington turned to Richard for a moment, then returned his attention to Patton.

"Yippie ki-yay! I came to thank you, Commander!"

"For what?"

"I just heard you put me in charge of a Sherman Firefly!" the boy shouted. He spit the words at an incredible pace, his eyes filled with glee. "I love that tank! It's based on the US M4 Sherman but fitted with the powerful 3-inch Ordnance Quick-Firing 17-pounder anti-tank gun! That's 3.05 tons of destruction on 35.3 tons of pure beauty! 5.89 meters – 7.77 overall – by 2.64 meters and a height of 2.7 meters with a max armor thickness of 89 mm at the turret front!"

"We know. Why are you listing its specifications?" Wellington asked.

"OK, kid, breathe!" Richard said. "And wipe your mouth."

"Awesome! Thank you!"

"Not that much! You're hyperventilating!"

"Yes, sorry…" Patton finally started to calm down. His breath returned to normal and his muscles relaxed. He took his cap off.

"I hope you don't have this kind of reactions in battle." Wellington sighed.

"Sir, no, sir!"

"OK, then take a seat. We were about to call you anyway. We need to start planning our following battle," Wellington said.

"Ivan?"

"Yes, Gordost is next. As if Kuromorimine and Pravda weren't hard enough to beat. We keep facing monsters." Wellington closed the notebook he was reading and looked out the window. The bright sun shone from the top of the sky.

"I hope we also fight Saunders! They have a ton of awesome Shermans!"

"One of which is British. But when can you expect from a school based on a country born because of tax evasion?" Wellington said. "Blood yanks."

"Well, we took the Sherman from them in the first place," said Richard.

"With our latest purchase of Fireflies and Comets, we shouldn't have too many problems. And I haven't yet revealed my secret weapon."

"What, the Black Prince?"

"No… something with a much tougher shell… and a punch to rival."


	9. Gordost's Pride

The midday sun shone over the mass of Russian armor. Sensha-dou, the way of the tank, a competition where high school students fought in armored vehicles, a battle royal between schools for fame and glory, this was what Gordost High School took part in that day. Decisive victory was the only acceptable outcome – as their school name suggested, it was a matter of pride. With nothing more than a veil of carbon nanofiber underneath the conventional tank armor to protect the crew, it warranted nothing less. No matter how much the Sensha-dou Federation insisted it was safe, the matter of the fact remained that nothing could stop a high velocity round from vaporizing a commander standing in the open on top of his tank. Regardless, Mother Russia would give no quarter. Victory had to be achieved, no matter the cost – anything less would have been shameful. Gordost, despite based on Japanese soil, was still a scion of Russia. They were the ambassadors of Russian pride in the land of the Rising Sun.

Peter, the leader of Gordost's Sensha-dou team, was sitting in the commander's seat on a T-44A, the sun burning his forehead. He was waiting for a report from his scouts. Eton Boys Academy, their British opponent, was somewhere out there, waiting to strike. They had met earlier that day face to face for an honorable salute before the battle. The Brits had Comets, Sherman Fireflies, a Black Prince and even a Tortoise. Everything in Eton's lineup was capable of knocking his Russian tanks from around 1000 meters from most angles. He expected them to park in the forest, lie in ambush, so he sent one scout to the plains and the rest to the forest down south.

"This is BT Four, enemy spotted, _Komandir! _In sector 8, in the middle of the field," a girl's voice said over the radio. "They covered us with smoke, but we counted around sixteen tanks: eight Comets and eight Fireflies. Their main force is here! Over."

"Roger." Peter radioed back. It was surprising. In the open, their main force was vulnerable to his tank destroyers stationed nearby. Eton was gambling, that much was certain. They were either stupid or they wanted to win in some spectacular way. But the Saburovs were pragmatic. Petrov Saburov would not lose because of some stupid gamble.

"Try to get a better look, BT Four. Over." That left Eton's two Sherman Fireflies, Tortoise and Black Prince unaccounted for. They couldn't have been too close. His scouts would have run into them if they had been.

"_Da, Komandir!_ BT Four, out!"

It was time to face the enemy. He was outnumbered, but his boys were superior to Eton's. Out of the sixteen tanks he had to face, very few had experienced crew. Wellington's Comet was manned by veterans. He was Eton's strategist and a dangerous foe. Other than that, only one of the Fireflies might have been of note – Patton's, leader of another capable team. The rest were manned by volunteers. Shensha-dou was not as popular at Eton as it was at Gordost.

"This is T leader to all T elements, move to sector 12. Out." The entire T-44 squadron, all ten tanks, turned right. Peter looked at his brother who was sitting below him, in the gunner's seat. "Ivan, what do you think of this?"

"If they want straight battle, give them straight battle, _rodnoy brat_," said Ivan softy. An innocent but almost uncanny smile covered the large boy's face as he looked up.

"As you say, Ivan." He picked the radio once more. "This is T leader to all BT elements, any eyes on the enemy? Over."

"This is BT Three. Negative, T leader. Over."

"BT Two here. No sightings. Over."

The four BT-8 fast tanks Peter dispatched as scouts were manned by girls, the Night Witches, as they called themselves, after the Soviet 588th Night Bomber Regiment, but in tanks instead of planes. The rest of the tanks were manned solely by boys.

"_Nyet, bolshoy brat_. Coast is clear," the last BT reported in.

"Don't forget to say 'over', Natasha. And use your dammed identifier. Over." His younger sister, Natalia, constantly annoyed him and scared his brother with her almost cringe worthy teasing. She was borderline creepy at times, but this time he hated it that she didn't take the communication protocol seriously.

"_Da, da, sladkiy brat_. BT One, over," spoke the girl unimpressed.

"Nat–" Peter sighed. She was too informal over the radio. He wanted to scold her, but there wasn't enough time.

"Forgiver her, _rodnoy brat_," said Ivan shyly. "You'll make s_tarshaya sestra_ Sofia sad." The boy cared deeply for Sofia, his older sister, perhaps even more than he cared for Natasha. She had always been somewhat of a mother figure to him during his time in Gordost. His twin brother, Peter, was too busy with Sensha-dou, and he found his younger sister, Natalia, to be scary.

"All BT elements continue scouting. T leader, out." It really seemed that the enemy wanted a direct fight. There was no way for them to avoid their scouts. But it was odd that the infamous Wellington of Eton settled for such a brute approach. Regardless, he had to call in the big guns. "This is T leader to IS unit, come in, over."

"This is IS actual, _stoya prikazov_! Over." Peter had posted the three IS-2m tanks, two ISU-122 and one ISU-152 SPGs he had on top of a nearby hill, to provide fire support and backup, but with the enemy that far and moving away they had to be relocated.

"_Artilleriya_, move to sector 10. Wait for my command to attack. Over."

"Da, _tovarich Komandir_! We will bury them! Over."

"T leader, out."

The Gordost SPGs and heavy tanks rolled down the hill to join up with Gordot's main force while Peter's T-44As started their pursuit. As the tanks turned to the north, his short hair caught the breeze. Dust blew in his eyes. Full speed ahead, the sounds of the engines, a symphony of force, comforted him. None would stand before the might and skill of Gordost.

"This is BT Four, they've got us! We're out! Over."

"What!?" Ivan winced and grabbed the radio. "_Súka_! Why did you stop?!" The mood swing caught the BT crew by surprise. Ivan was known to go through a hundred and eighty degree turns occasionally, but it still terrified the girls. Peter was too familiar with it, yet there was nothing he could do. Only big sister Sofia could calm him now.

"We– we didn't stop, _Komandir_, they hit us while we were moving," the girls answered in horror.

"What?! _Gospodi_… did you get a better look? Over," asked Peter.

"_Nyet_, they smoked us right afterwards. Sorry! Sorry!" One of the girls was crying. They forgot to say _over,_ but Peter forgave them in those circumstances.

"_Vanya_, be nice to your classmates!" a soft but commanding voice buzzed through the radio.

"_Da, starshaya sestra_. Sorry!" Ivan went back to his usual self.

"Apologize to the girls, _Vanya_."

"Sorry for cursing you, _tovarich_."

"Good job, BT Four. Have a rest. Over," finally intervened Peter. They were wasting time.

"_Da, Komandir. _Sorry. Out."

The must have been Sharpe, Wellinton's gunner. Nobody else in Eton could have hit a BT-8 in motion.

"Enemy spotted!" the radio buzzed. Peter focused his eyes on the horizon. The enemy was in sight. But… they were running. They had their backs turned and going the other way. He looked at the map. They were making a dash for the small hilly area close to the battlefield border. Was that their plan all along? How simplistic. They could have simply waited for them and opened fire when they got close. Not that the T-44s would have approached – at least not until the ISUs were there. But where were the remaining tanks?

"Aaaaahh!" a loud scream came from the radio. "We've been ambushed! We're out!"

"_Derrmo!_ Who is this! Use your call sign! Over," demanded Peter.

"We're BT Three! We're out! Over," the girl clarified.

"BT Two here, bad news. We're out too. Over."

"Uhh, _Petya_," Sofia radioed over her sister's cusses.

"_Schas po ebalu poluchish, suka, blyad!_" Natalia was enraged.

"Shh, _Natashenka_. I don't know what hit us, _Petya_. I think we're out too."

"_Gospodi_… Is okay, Sofia. Natalia. Rest now. We still have this." Peter tried to calm them. "This is T leader to IS actual, be wary. All BT units have been taken out, probably each by one of the remaining two Shermans and the Black Prince. We'll see them coming in this field, but you need to be careful that close to the forest. Over." The T-44 squadron was far enough from the forest the BTs were ambushed in, but the heavy tanks were dangerously close.

"No worries, _Komandir_. We have three IS-2s. What can they do? Over."

"A lot if they catch you by surprise. You probably have ten minutes until they reach you if they're coming. Stay sharp. Over."

"Ten minutes is just how long we need to finish the vodka! Perfect!"

"Finish it faster, just in case. T leader, out."

The T-44s were slowly getting closer. They were almost in range of the enemy squadron.

"All units, open fire!" ordered Peter. Ten 85-mm ZiS-S-53 fired almost simultaneously, a deafening orchestra of firepower. None hit, but they were moving, so it wasn't surprising. "Fire at will."

"_Komandir! _They're on us!"

"IS? No! It's too early! They couldn't have gotten in range." Who the hell were these people? What was going on?

"We're under fire. They took out one ISU-122 and blew the tracks off an IS-2. Over." Peter didn't even get the chance to respond. "It's out. They took it out!"

"How…"

"We found cover but we're pinned down. Requesting orders, over."

"Hold position. We'll come get you once we're done here. Over." But now he had to face the enemy without fire support, then swing back to help the units that were supposed to help _him_. It wouldn't be easy. _Divide et Impera_. That was their game. Many thoughts passed through his mind. How did they get to the heavies so fast? Then something caught his attention. "What the hell?" They had gotten closer to the Eton squadron and he finally noticed that some of the enemy Fireflies were behaving strangely. "Ivan, put some machine gun fire on those Fireflies." The Gunner complied. A few tracer rounds left the coaxial machine gun. The instant a bullet hit the Firefly it blew up like a balloon. "Decoys!" Peter finally understood. "All units, put machine gun fire on the Fireflies."

Some bullets bounced, but in the end, four Firefly decoys were destroyed. That left the enemy with twelve tanks, and they had their backs turned. If they stopped or slowed down to go up the hill, Gordost could get some free shots. They had to win fast and with few casualties then return to help the heavies. It was doable, but the situation was still bleak.

Peter should have expected something so devious from the villainous commander that attacked Pravda one and a half hours into their three hour informal cease fire, crushing the unsuspecting enemy utterly. "Attack the enemy where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected." Wellington was a disciple of Sun Tzu, after all. He based his plan on Pravda making the same mistake during their exhibition match that they did during the last tournament – arrogantly offering three hours to choose surrender. Of course, Wellington had no intention to surrender. Once more he proved his wit when he lured Kuromorimine into an ambush of the most peculiar type, triggering an avalanche of mud onto the German tanks attacking him uphill. Twice he had won against greater numbers with nothing but wit. Why did Peter expect this time to be different?

The boy bit his lower lip. He had one ace up his sleeve, but preferred not to use it. Now he had no other choice, it had to be done. He grabbed the radio transmitter. "Begin Operation _Tishina_!" Gordost would not fail. On his pride, he swore. Victory, at any cost!


	10. The Art of War

The sun was setting over Eton's School Ship, the HMS Implacable. Every squadron commander was called to discuss plans for the match with Gordost that was the following day. Half a dozen boys were gathered around the planning table.

"Thank you for organizing the meeting at this hour. Any sooner and I would have slept through it," said Monty in his usual lazy manner.

_"Adversus solem ne loquitor."_

"Took the words right out of my mouth, August," Welligton retorted. "Welcome, gentlemen. The victorious win first and then go to war, while the defeated go to war first and only then seek to win. Let us win tonight." Eton had a unique combination of very quirky members. Wellington, in particular, enjoyed quoting Sun Tzu. As Eton's main strategist, he felt like it added flair to his character. At times, he exaggerated.

_"Amen,"_ said August. _"Audaces fortuna iuvat."_

"I'm not sure that applies here, mate," said Richard. He was the only one who knew enough Latin to understand the boy's numerous ramblings.

"Monty, you look like you drank a Montgomery cocktail." Heinz started chuckling.

"A what?" Wellington asked.

"That's a martini mixed at a ratio of 15 to 1, facetiously named like that because Montgomery supposedly refused to go into battle unless his numerical advantage was at least that high," explain Richard.

"Why am I not surprised you know that?" Wellington frowned.

"Because I know a lot of things?"

"You do know that following severe internal injuries received in the First World War, Montgomery could neither smoke nor drink, right?" Monty said.

"Gentlemen, I would very much appreciate if you would spare us your usual squabbles tonight. Thank you."

"_Ja, Herr Kommandant! _So what is the plan?"

Happy that he could finally start his discourse, Wellington smiled. "If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle." Wellington paused for effect. Nobody reacted. They knew him long enough to get used to his pretentious quoting. "We have Gordost's lineup," revealed Wellington. Then the reactions came.

"What?!" Patton took his cap off. He was known to do that very rarely. "Fuck yeah!"

Heinz smiled briefly, but otherwise remained calm. Richard was already aware so he didn't flinch.

"This should prove helpful," mumbled Monty. "So, how did you manage to get your hands on such a thing, oh glorious strategist?"

"We have a spy within Gordost," said Wellington. A devious smile crept on his face.

"As expected of our strategist," Heinz praised. "The real Iron Duke would be proud."

_"Ave, Wellington! Nulli secundus!"_

"Ah, so that's why you wouldn't let me infiltrate them Yukari-chan style!"

"I'm sorry, Patton, but your girlfriend's tactics wouldn't work on Gordost. They have good security."

"She's not my girlfriend! Yet…"

"Oh, I sorry I meant crush," Wellington condescendingly corrected.

"I can't get between her and Panzers just yet… Maybe if I dress up as a Firefly…"

Wellington sighed in disappointment. "Enough of this nonsense. Back to the matter at hand."

"Excuse me, _honeste_ Wellington, but… who is this spy?"

"It's better if you don't know." Wellington and Richard looked at each other. Richard was privy to a lot of confidential information. He was the team's official leader, after all. Only he and Wellington knew about the spy. "I need not say that this information will not leave this room."

_"Certo,"_ confirmed August. The others nodded.

"Have you considered they might have a spy in Eton too?" Monty asked.

"Oh, they do," said Wellington.

"You seem awfully calm. Have we done anything about it?"

"Oh, young and naïve Monty… Let the enemy's own spy sow discord in his camp. He is double agent. It's all part of the plan."

Wellington directed the group's attention to the strategy table. The northern part of the map was dominated by a large plain, while the southern part was forested. A few hills were visible here and there. Wellington dropped a handful of chess pieces on it. "They have 10 T-44 medium tanks, 3 IS-2m heavy tanks, 4 BT-8 light tanks, 1 ISU-152 and 2 ISU-122S SPGs." He positioned the pieces at Gordost's starting point. "Previously, they considered using T-34/85s instead of BT-8s, but changed the plan this morning in favor for a more scouting capable lineup."

"I wouldn't be shocked to find out you also know what brand of vodka they drink–"

"Stolichnaya Gold."

"Just how much does this spy tell you?" Monty asked.

"Everything."

"What if they changed their lineup again? Are we sure they're not aware of the spy?" Heinz asked.

"Worst case scenario, they switch to T-34/85 again, which would actually be in our advantage, since their scouting capabilities would be decreased and given they're probable plan. That would turn them into sitting ducks. But more on that later."

"And the spy?"

"Our double agent corroborated the story that we have no spies. They don't know."

"Very well, go on."

"Their main course of action will be to drive their ISUs up a hill with the IS-2ms and camp there." Wellington pointed at a spot on the map. "Which was, frankly, obvious, given their force composition. Their BTs will scout ahead and the T-44s will hunt us down. This is confirmed by our inside man." Wellington took a sip of his tea. His mind was filled with anticipation, but the black tea's fragrance calmed his senses. They had to win. He hated loosing. "They'll scout with the BTs, obviously. The T-44 will stick together to avoid running into us and move towards the center of the map. From there, they'll be able to strike at us at a moment's notice." He moved the pieces around, then used a marker to draw their routes.

"We know for sure that this is their plan?" asked Heinz.

"Yes. And these are their routes, to the meter. Our spy sent us pictures of their maps."

"He's in deep. You trust him?"

"Richard does." That said everything. Richard has his way around people. His uncanny ability tell when someone was lying was a godsend. Wellington placed a couple of small tank models on the map: a Comet, a Sherman, a Tortoise and a pair of white Go pieces. The map was now a veritable mess. "Squadron one will be made of all the Comets and four Fireflies, represented here by the Comet. Squadron two will be made of the Tortoise and the Black Prince, represented by the Tortoise. Squadron three will be made of the remaining Shermans, represented by the Sherman and two Go pieces."

"Why don't we just stick to the borders of the battlefield and hit them in the rear?" asked Monty.

"It would be impossible to move such a large group unnoticed."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far…

"They are overconfident. We've made sure they think they have the advantage, that we're scared, that we can't defeat them. My squadron will draw the enemy. We'll move in the open field, taunting them. The four Shermans, under Patton's command, will follow us dragging after them _four decoys_. The enemy will believe we're looking for a straight fight and come right at us. They'll have no other choice. Unless they'll realize that half of the Shermans are decoys, they'll engage with their full force. The Shermans will have to stay the farthest away from the enemy, and we'll put out smoke to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. They might try to ambush us, they might move their heavy guns down the hill to bring them bearing on us, but they will have their attention focused on me. I'll handle them.

"The BTs will continue scouting to locate our remaining forces. They'll believe we only have two more Fireflies on top of Squadron two, when we actually have six. During all this, Monty's second squadron will move here," Wellington circled a spot on the map, "to provide fire support. However! We'll need to gouge out their eyes, so, on route, you'll stop momentarily here," he drew another circle, "and have the BP ambush their BT before continuing. With good timing and exploiting their blind spots, you should be fine."

"This entire plan seems to be based on them not changing their routes… at all." Heinz was skeptical. "It's a bit too rigid, don't you think?"

"Not really. It relies on them doing what they plan to do. So unless some idiot decides not to follow orders, which is unlikely, or the leaders decide drop everything in the last moment and improvise, we'll be covered. As long as they change the plan long enough before the battle to brief their crew about it, we'll be covered. Worst case scenario, we won't have enough time to develop a counterstrategy, but since they're completely unaware of our spy, I doubt they'll change anything until the battle."

"_Mein Gott_, the spy is part of the crew…" Heinz realized. "You really are the devil."

"Don't look at me. Richard procured this one." Everyone looked at Richard.

"Hey, what Darjeeling said – all is fair in love and war."

"That's from John Lyly's Euphues, right?" said Castus.

"Yes, that's actually from John Lyly," Wellington confirmed. "You are correct– Wait! When did you get inside?!"

"Oh, sorry, I was just here to get my lucky coffee mug." Castus picked his mug and left the room as promptly as he entered.

"Yeah… as I said, all is fair in love and war."

"I'm going to guess it's a girl." Heinz frowned. "It matters not. Let's get this done. What do the remaining Shermans do and who leads them?"

"You do. Monty will handle the Tortoise and the Black Prince. August will help him with that. I need you leading the charge. By acting as bait, I'll keeps them on the march. Then with a body of picked men, you will lie in wait and strike when least expect it."

"Stop quoting Sun Tzu, you're making the instructions more confusing than necessary," said Monty.

"You want to break the teams apart?" asked Heinz. Normally, he would have lead the Black Prince, with August as his second in command.

"You said it yourself: it's bad to be rigid. The best route for you to take will be through the forest, here and here." Wellington marked another route on the map. Next, he drew two more circles on the already cluttered map and moved each of the Go pieces on one. "Two of the Shermans will ambush the BTs in these two spots before rejoining the main force." All the clutter was joined by another undulating line through the middle of the forest. "Following this route, the main Firefly force under Heinz will get here," he marked yet another spot. "It's the Fireflies' mission to take out the heavies and then hit the enemy in the rear. They won't see it coming. The main force will hit them earlier and with double the numbers they expected. The heavy force will be indubitably crushed, ideally without the Sherman's numbers being revealed."

"Quite ambitious," said Heinz enthusiastically.

"However, we can't plan how things will go once we engage. If they move their heavies, you'll have an easy time taking them out. Otherwise, it might be a little harder, but that's why I put you in command. Analyze their positioning and take them out. I'll try to coordinate your assault, but I trust you can handle yourself, Guderian."

_"Natürlich, Herr Kommandant."_

"Our lives are in your hands, mate," said Richard. He got up and patted Heinz on the shoulder. "No pressure."

_"Ja, mein führer!"_

"Err… Don't call me that. Bad vibes."

_"In Panzer, unübertroffen!"_

"On a side note, our crews are not as experienced as theirs. We must take that into account. Expect them to be fire more accurately and dodge more skillfully. Thus, when you engage, put them in a position that advantages you and limits them. A skilled adversary is beatable when his movements are restricted, and his patterns are exposed. The clever combatant looks to the effect of combined energy, and does not require too much from single individuals. Pin them down, then surround them."

_"Natürlich."_

"We must also consider the possibility of them intercepting our communications – God knows, we will intercept theirs – so we'll speak in code. I have the dictionary already set up."

"Do I need to learn this by heart?" Monty moaned.

"That is all, gentlemen. Thank you for your time. See you tomorrow on the battlefield. _Floreat Etona!"_

_"Aut viam inveniam aut faciam! Aut vincere aut mori! Qui audet adipiscitur!"_

"Argh, you're giving me headaches, August," Monty said.

"Sleep well," said Wellington. "Tomorrow, we make history."


	11. The Hawk against the Bear

"They don't seem to be tapping into our communications…" said Richard.

"Yes, I'm not sure whether to be impressed by their honor or shocked by their stupidity," said Wellington.

"Scout in range! One o'clock! One thousand meters!" a voice reported over the radio. Eton Boys Academy's main battle squadron was driving through the middle of an open field, with a bunch of loudspeakers playing "Rule, Britannia!" at full blast.

"Richard, stop!" ordered Wellington. The driver pulled the breaks. "You know the drill!" he cried before the tank even managed to stop completely. "This is Blue actual, we'll engage as planned. All blue units, move on. Out." The rest of the squadron passed them by. The Comet reached a complete stop. "Sharpe, put the smoke on it!"

"Already on it." The gunner locked onto the target with his sight. "Locked." The gun was already loaded with a smoke shell.

"Fire!"

"On the way." The Comet's cannon fired away. The shell flew through the air and exploded on top of the enemy BT-8.

"Reload! Castus!" Wellington hit the armor twice to get the loader's attention – not that he wasn't paying, he had already grabbed another shell, and the bumps could hardly be heard over the roar of the engine, but the commander was pumped up. They needed to blind the scout, fast.

"Smoke's up," said Castus.

"On the way." Even before the second smoke hit, the cloud had swallowed the enemy tank completely. The second shell only thickened the cloud. The BT was completely blind, at least until it moved up.

"Cease fire! Load AP!" Wellington was stating the obvious. Everyone knew what to do. Double smoke, AP to kill and another smoke. The crew was acting before even hearing the orders.

"Wilco," said Castus.

"Sharpe, the second you see the enemy pop out of the smoke, smack him! Don't wait for my order!"

"I know!" the boy growled.

"Again, why didn't we shoot him with an AP the first time?" asked Richard.

"I told you yesterday, because this way he's blind even if we don't get a direct hit!"

"Up!"

"On the way!" The deafening sound of the High Velocity 77mm firing followed a split second after.

"Load smoke!" Wellington shouted to Castus before the AP even hit. Castus hesitated. That wasn't the plan, he was supposed to wait for a kill confirmation before grabbing the next round: AP or smoke depending on whether the enemy was killed. But Wellington was the tank commander and orders were absolute. He reached for the smoke.

"He's out!" confirmed Sharpe.

"Smoke's up!"

"Fire!"

"On the way!" Another deafening shot. "Done." Sharpe relaxed. "I wonder what August would say now."

"_Substiti, ieci, exterminavi?_ Maybe?" answered Richard. The two boys started laughing.

"Richard, move out!" ordered Wellington. "Punch it! We need to catch up with the squadron."

"Roger that! Pedal to the metal!" Richard said and sped off.

"Why did you ask for a smoke after the AP?" asked Castus. "I thought the plan was to confirm the hit before reloading."

"I trusted Sharpe's aim…" said Wellington. "That… and I realized that it's better to put another smoke on him in case we missed. Keep him blind longer. Didn't think of that yesterday."

* * *

August sat in the Black Prince's commander's seat, eyes wide open. Usually, he would be loading shells, but with Heinz away, a few changes had to be made. The position of loader was given to a quiet Literature Club member. For the moment, everyone silently kept an eye out for the enemy scout that was supposed to come through the area. A report came over the radio, breaking the silence. "First chick has been cooked." That meant that the main squadron had encountered and eliminated the first scout, thus attracting the enemy attention.

"_Perfectus!"_ August exclaimed.

"First blood!" a voice cried from within the nearby Tortoise.

"Hush! You'll give us away, Ryuu…" scolded Monty, half asleep, from the Tortoise's command seat. All the ruckus had woken him up. Ryuu was a Gamer, and a proud one at that. He constantly reminded everyone about it with his references.

"My first real battle! This is just like in video games!"

"_Si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses_."

"It's nothing like a game, now hu… sh…" Monty mumbled.

"Don't try to convince me otherwise. You always fall asleep halfway through."

"Never do verbal battle with others. Even if you win an argument you can't change the other person's way of life," said Ryouma from the Black Prince's driver seat.

"_Silentium!_ I hear an engine."

"A challenger appears!"

August spotted the enemy scout, a BT-8 fast tank. "Two o'clock!" He dropped back into the Black Prince.

"Head's down. Wake me up when it's dead," Monty yawned and went inside his tank too.

"_Ita vero, Centurion! _Tadatsune, aim!"

_"Ha! Mochiron!" _The Black Prince's turret turned slowly. "Arrows of fate…" Tadatsune took a deep breath and… _"Hassha!" _The QF 17 pounder roared over the silence. The AP shell whizzed through the air and hit the BT-8 directly in the turret. "Target destroyed!"

_"Naisushotto!"_ said Ryouma.

"Argh," moaned Monty. "I forgot that tank guns are so loud." He rubbed his temples. "OK, let's get moving."

"_Sensha zenshin!"_ said Ryouma and started the engine.

"Once more unto the breach!" said Ryuu.

August grabbed the radio as the tank accelerated and spoke into the transmitter, "KFC!" The enemy scout was dead, they were on the move.

* * *

The wind blew through the leaves as four hidden Shermans prowled the forest. The other two tanks that had been left behind radioed in. "Fried nugget" and "deep fried" were the codes used to confirm the success of the ambush. Not the most eloquent of coded communication, but it did the job. "_Nachthexen_ down. _Panzer vor_," Heinz mumbled to himself. From on top the turret, he struggled to see through the thick forest. They were almost at its edge. It was almost time for the tiger to strike.

A flash of light hit Heinz's eyes. They were out of the forest. In front of them, the enemy kindly presented their flank. The Fireflies dropped right on top of them. "Engage!"

Four cannons shot. An ISU-122S was taken out. An IS-2 was hit in the left track and left it behind. Two shots missed. A good volley, given their skill. "Fire at will!" Before the enemy could reorganize, the immobile IS-2 was shot dead by Heinz's Sherman as it traversed its turret. The other three Fireflies shot at the remaining two heavy tanks but missed. Heinz knew that his team wouldn't target the damaged IS, thinking it harmless and immobile. A deadly mistake, as being immobile, it had the highest chance of shooting them with 122mm of death.

With one ISU-122 and one IS-2 taken out, four more tanks remained. They managed to hide behind a couple of large rocks, probably placed there before the battle to offer cover and spice things up. Four medium tanks against two heavies. The ISUs wouldn't have had time to turn and fire, but the IS-2s were still a threat. "It matters not," said Heinz under his breath. "The other Fireflies will be here momentarily and we'll surround them."

"Blue leader, this is Blue Five. I've joined up with Blue Six. We're almost there. Over."

Heinz went for the radio to respond but was interrupted by a shocking image. A small tank just flew out of the forest as if off a ramp. Out of the driver's hatch, a fiery redhead grinned deviously. Out of the turret hatch, an almost angelic beauty with long platinum hair blown by the wind had a terrifying frown that ruined her otherwise perfect face. Heinz saw the tank in slow motion as it hovered a couple of meters in the air, to the right of his rightmost Firefly. The only thing that he could think of was a familiar song. _I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky. _Then, a split second later it hit the ground hard.

"_Kurwa!"_ shouted the driver. "We lost a track again!"

"Shut up, Beka! You're not even polish!" screamed the commander, enraged.

"_Hai, hai, _Natalie!"

"Don't call me Natalie!"

"Err… _Natashenka_? The enemy…" a soft voice from inside the tank.

The platinum haired girl stood silent for a second. She turned her head left. Her eyes met Heinz's.

"Whoa, _bijin!_" said one of the Firefly commanders.

Then Natalia finally realized where they were. Her frown was renewed. "_Suka, blyad! Ute! Ute! Ute!"_ she squalled in a combination of Russian and Japanese, pointing furiously at the Fireflies.

"_Natashenka_, _you're_ the gunner."

"_Derrmo! Kuso!" _She dropped inside the turret. It started traversing to the left. Everyone was still in shock. What the hell just happened? The scouts were supposed to be dead. The BT-8 pointed at the side of the rightmost Firefly and fired. The shell penetrated the side armor. The white flag signaling that the tank was taken out popped up.

"_Scheise! _Take that BT out!" shouted Heinz. One of the Firefly turned its turret around. The BT fired another round, this time at the second rightmost Firefly, but the angle wasn't good enough and it bounced up. A loud bang. A 17 pounder fired a HE shell at the BT, knocking it over. "I thought you blew up the scouts!" Heinz shouted into the radio.

"Sorry, commander!" a freshman radioed. "We must have missed a vital spot, but I swear we hit _something!"_

"Double check next time! The damned thing took out a Firefly!"

"A hero should go his own way!" Ryouma's voice was heard from the radio.

"They're not a hero, they're the enemy!"

"The purpose of coming into the world is to accomplish one's duty. Can we truly blame them for trying?"

"I'm sick and tired of everyone's obsessive quoting," Monty joined the conversation. "Keep it down, I'm trying to sleep here."

"Don't sleep in the middle of the battle!"

"You only need me to calculate a firing solution. We're not in position yet. Do you even now how bloody slow this Tortoise is? Not that I mind… So hush!"

A girl inside the BT broke down crying. The sobbing was clearly audible from outside.

"_Oi, oi! _Don't cry Natalie!"

"There, there, _Natashenka_. We got one of them."

The enemy had very strange members, stranger than even Eton, thought Heinz. But it was not the time for meditation. "Focus fire on the enemy heavy tanks!" Heinz turned his attention to the remaining enemy forces.

"Commander, we're here!" The last two Fireflies arrived on the scene.

"Finally! Get moving! Surround them! _Schnell!_" The heavy enemy tanks were still hiding behind the rocks. Heinz could see their 122mm cannons.

Just as Heinz finished giving the orders a high pitched sound erupted from the radio. Like the wail of a banshee, it hurt everyone's ears. The entire crew pulled their headsets off. Heinz rubbed his temples. "What the hell?" Then he understood. "Mein Gott, they're jamming us!"


	12. Requiem

The Tortoise finally got in position on the grassy hill, with the Black Prince nearby. The main battle, or better said pursuit, was visible in the distance. Monty popped his head from inside the vehicle as it turned to face the enemy's direction. They were being jammed. "So they want to play dirty? Not that it's going to help them." He thought of Wellington. "What will you do now, glorious strategist? Radio's jammed!" he shouted at the Black Prince. "August! I think we can use that thing were weren't supposed to use unless really necessary. It should makes things more interesting."

The boy popped up too and performed the roman salute in confirmation of the order. He grabbed a large inflatable balloon attached to a strange electronic device from inside the tank and started filling it with helium. "Wagner or Mozart?" he asked.

"Mozart! Wellington will love it." Sleep time was over, he had to do math for firing solutions, but at least he'd be accompanied by Amadeus.

* * *

First squadron was under heavy fire. The chase was more intense than expected. Shells whizzed through the air in alarming numbers.

"They've jammed us," noticed Wellington. "Ha-ha! Smart move. I did not see that coming."

"Bloody hell, you seem awfully calm!" cried Richard. "Do we have a backup channel?"

"Nope."

"Oh… Okay!" Richard paused for a couple of seconds. "So… now what?"

"Don't worry. You just focus on driving. They might have cut our communications, they might have realized I was coordinating the hidden men, but they've made a fatal mistake." Wellington looked at the pursuing T-44s. A familiar tune slowly flew into his ears over the sound of engines from the second radio he used to tap into enemy communications. The high pitch jamming tone slowly decreased in volume, making the tune easier to hear. _Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla, teste David cum Sibylla._

"They think our boys will panic and rout. They think we only have one capable leader in Eton… how wrong they are. We have three!"

* * *

"Bloody hell! We're blind!"

"Technically, we're deaf and mute…"

"What will we do without Wellington_-dono_?"

"Richard-_sama, tasukete!"_

The crew was panicking and it was a bad time – they still had four enemies to face. Even without communications, defeating them wasn't so hard. They hadn't planned for this situation so they didn't know what channel to switch to, but it didn't matter. They could still win. It wasn't so hart to coordinate six Fireflies, at least not for Heinz. "Comrades!" he drew everyone's attention. "Remain steadfast! We are the pride of Britannia! Do not lose heart!"

"Hey, the kraut's right!" said a boy from the Political Science Club. "We can do this! We just need to take out the heavy tanks and go to the first squadron's last known position!"

"It's in the middle of a field, we'll see them!" said Heinz.

"We can do it!"

"He's right!"

"Rule, Britannia!"

"Hoorah!"

That was easy, thought Heniz. Thank God for the Political Science Club.

"Heinz– Heinz, come in!" The radio started transmitting again. Heinz didn't even notice when the jamming stopped.

"Monty? The jamming's over already?"

"Yeah, I spotted the enemy balloon that housed the jammer from the hill, calculated a firing solution and shot a high explosive shell with a time fuse. It was easy."

"Easy?! How did you time the fuse right?"

"Math."

"You monster!" Heinz started laughing.

"Oh, and you might want to tune in to the enemy channel for some Mozart."

"Gave them a taste of their own medicine, didn't you?"

"At least ours has some taste."

"Well, let me finish off these bastards here and I'll be on my way to hit Gordost in the rear–"

"Commander, they're gone!"

"What?! _Scheise!_ I'll call you back, Monty! Over!"

"Roger. Out."

They'd let their guard down. While everyone was distracted with the flying tank and radio jamming business, the two IS-2m heavies and the tank destroyers had ran off. Nothing but a dust trail to the north was left to prove they were even there.

"All units, pursue!"

The five, still operational, Fireflies moved out, leaving their smoking friend behind, a monument to the enemy's absurd, but successful, stunt.

"Wedge formation. I'll take the left. Blue Two through Six, enter formation on my right."

"Blue four here. We're dead, forgot?"

"Not you, you stay where you are. Blue three, you have the lead."

"Roger wilco!"

"The phrase "Roger Wilco" is procedurally incorrect, as it is redundant."

The Fireflies rapidly caught up with the slow enemy heavies. The Russian were positioning themselves on the high ground, a small hill about 300 meters away, but third squadron had arrived on the scene fast enough to catch them with their guard down.

"Fire at will!" The last ISU-122 was hit in the rear as it climbed the hill, damaging the engine, but it wasn't out yet. The second volley disabled it, the shell penetrating the side armor. But two volleys were as much as they managed to get. With two IS-2 tank and one ISU-152 perfectly positioned on the hill, the Fireflies had to move, lest they were destroyed by the enemy's superior gunners. "Move out! Zigzag!" The tanks complied. "Blue Two, hard left! Blue Three, zigzag! Blue Four, Blue Five, hard right!"

Two Fireflies crashed into each other. "I said left, not right!" Blue Two and Blue Three were immobile.

"Sorry, sir!"

The ISU-152 fired. A 152 mm shell landed right between the crashed tanks. Both popped the white flag. Normally, the ISU-152 would have HE shells that could blow the turret completely off a tank. A direct hit usually destroyed or damaged the target's tracks and suspension, immobilizing it, and gravely wounded the crew, but under Federation regulations, the shells fired instead housed an electronic transmitter than told tanks close enough to the impact zone to hoist the white flag and shutdown.

"Heinz, I still don't see you in my zone. Where are you?" the radio buzzed. Monty was finally fully awake and giving his all. "Not even I can provide enough accurate fire support at this range to tip the battle."

"They've just taken out two Fireflies with one shot. I'm busy Monty."

"Bombardier Achievement unlocked!"

"Shut up Ryuu!"

"Our shells cut through the enemy like a _katana_ through _goza_," Tadatsune was heard from the other side. The Tortoise had just successfully hit a T-44A.

"If you are a man, even if you die in a ditch during battle, you will die pitching forward," Ryouma commented.

"Shut it, Ryouma! It's the fifth time you say that. We haven't even hit five enemies. I can't talk with you all babbling over me. Keep the damned channel clear. It's not made for random banter."

"_Oi_, Monty-_san_. I need another firing solution. Although frankly I'd prefer a HUD. Aiming is so much harder than in video games."

"Told you!" Monty shouted to Ryuu. "Just hurry up, Heinz! First squadron already stopped and engaged the enemy. They've lost two Comets and two Shermans, one of which was Patton's. We only took out two of their T-44s. And they keep putting smoke on Sharpe." The difference in skill between the Gordost full-fledged gunners and Eton's volunteers had become apparent. Despite Eton's technical superiority, they were taken out faster than they could take out the enemy. Only Wellington's gunner, Sharpe and Patton's gunner, Dorian, had enough experience to reliably kill tanks. Gordost knew that, so they tried to get the two out of the equation.

"Monty -_san_! The firing solution? I'm getting bored."

"Just hurry up! Out."

Guderian was down to three tanks. Three versus three. Normally, good odds for him, but the enemy still had the high ground. "Enemy tanks take long to reload. Stop and fire!" he ordered and started counting. Three 17 pounders fired. They all missed. "Move! Move! Move!"

Just as he had turned Gordost's reinforcements into a liability, from a rescue company into a company that had to be rescued, so was Heinz now put in a position where he needed help. But there was no way for him to receive it, so he was on his own. The IS-2s fired another volley, but the ISU-152 wasn't reloaded yet. Luckily for Heinz, they missed. The Fireflies stopped again and returned fire. A lucky shot, the ISU-152 was hit.

"We hit their cannon!" shouted Heinz. "It's no longer a problem. Focus on the IS-2s!" he ordered. Odds were slowly going back in his favor, if he could keep this up.

During the short moments his boys reloaded, he decided to check the radio. The enemy channel was still playing "Dies Irae", but Gordost had probably changed it by then. With the Black Prince defending the Tortoise, but otherwise idle, August was certainly trying to find out their backup frequency, unless he had found it already.

Heinz noticed the IS-2s were revving up their engines. Something was happening. "They're charging us! Monty! Need backup!"

"I'll turn left to provide you with fire support. You're still there?" said Monty over the radio. "Try to slow the enemy tanks to a halt if you can! Come in!"

"Will do," said Heinz. "Hurry up, they're coming!" The three remaining enemy armored vehicles rolled down the hill like charging bulls. The ISU-152's gun was still damaged, but Guderian didn't want to get rammed by it. "Take that ISU out!" he shouted at his crew. "Monty, fire at the IS-2s!"

"You will always remember that this was the day when you asked Montgomery for help, Guderian!"

The stampede reached the bottom of the hill. The heavy tanks were less than 100 meters away. All three Fireflies shot a volley at the ISU-152. The first shot missed. The second bounced off! It was mere meters away. Penetration! Heinz's Firefly managed to hit and pierce the armor. The white flag was hoist. But the vehicle still had momentum. It was still coming. A loud metallic bash, the sound of screeching metal, the ISU-152 crashed into Heinz's tank.

Ears ringing, the boy shook his head. It felt like he blacked out for a second. He should have worn a helmet. It was a dumb choice to wear a German Field Marshal's Cap just to look glamorous on camera. The Firefly was still intact. "Everybody OK?" he asked his crew.

"The driver's knocked out!" moaned the loader. "What was his name again?"

"I don't even know yours…" said the gunner.

"Hey, you OK?"

"He's moaning, I'm guessing that means he doesn't have a concussion…"

"Argh," the sound of another crash hurt Heinz's ears – then another, mere moments later. Heinz finally looked around. He hadn't blacked out, at least not for more than a second. The IS-2s had just crashed into the last two Fireflies, a moment before. "Reload! Reload!" he shouted. Two more deafening blasts covered his voice. The IS-2's D25-T shot their shells almost simultaneously into the already confused Eton Shermans. They were out, and Heinz was faced with two, probably confused, but definitely angry Russian heavy tanks, and his driver was unconscious. "Fire! Fire! If we can take even one out–"

Another deafening explosion – no, three… milliseconds after each other. Adrenaline pumping, time slowed down. Heinz saw the shells leave the 17 pounder, then the two D25-Ts. The Firefly's AP shell hit the closest IS-2, easily penetrating its armor. A fraction of a second later, the two Russian AP shells hit his tank simultaneously. Two white flags were hoisted, one on the Sherman and one on an IS-2. It was over, he had lost. His head was pounding. All the cannon fire and shell hits were taking a toll. "If only–" A fourth shell hit last IS-2 and took it out. "Monty!" The Tortoise had struck!

"Nice job keeping it still, Heinz," spoke Monty over the Radio. "Now let's just pray Wellington wins."

Back at the Tortoise, Monty was looking through his binoculars. Heinz's squadron was devastated, but so was the enemy. "How's the situation developing?" asked Heinz.

"Last I checked, they were down to three tanks against four T-44s. Man, our gunners suck!" answered Monty. The sound of an engine attracted his attention. He had sent the Black Prince to help Wellington, although he doubted it would get there in time, and all other tanks were out. Did a T-44 sneak up on him?! "Oh… it's just a BT-8," the boy sighed relieved. "Wait, how are you still alive?"

"Kurwa!" shouted someone from the driver's seat. Just as the BT-8 arrived on top of the hill, its engine died with a big puff of smoke.

A girl popped her head from inside the tank. Her long hair was all messed up and she had dirt on her face, but was otherwise quite good looking. She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away tears.

"Erm, Heinz, didn't you take out all the BTs?" asked Monty over the radio.

"Yeah, we took one out twice."

"I have a barely functional BT-8 right on my ass..."

"What?! Not again!"

The crying girl blew her nose in a pink handkerchief. She finally noticed Monty sitting on top of the Tortoise and almost broke down crying again, but instead dropped back into the tank. The turret of the immobilized fast tank started traversing towards him.

"Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Turn around!"

"What?" the driver asked.

"We've got a BT-8 just a couple of meters away! Get moving!"

"Don't worry," said Ryuu. "It can't penetrate us anywhere."

Monty stopped panicking. "Oh, you're right. That 45 mm won't do anything." The sound of a gun firing was followed by the Tortoise's white flag popping up. "What?!"

"Oh, they've hit the small door we use to throw away spent shells," said one of the loaders.

Monty slapped his own face. "Unbelievable…" A second later, the BT-8's own white flag was hoisted. The bloody thing was finally out.


	13. The Grand Finale

"We're out!" shouted the last Firefly commander.

"We're the last ones standing!"

"On the way!" The 77 mm HV fired. "Enemy down!"

"Richard, evade!"

"Up!"

"That was the last shell!" said Castus. "Make it count!" They had fired blindly from the smoke far too often. They had wasted ammo.

It came down to a one on one duel between Peter's T-44A and Wellington's Comet. Everyone else was out. The battle had been devastating. Eton had lost almost twice the numbers Gordost threw into the fray. The lack of skill of their gunners was painfully obvious. It was nothing like what Britannia usually had to offer, it was a disgrace. At Trafalgar, the British won against impossible odds because of their superior gunnery. Lord Nelson would be ashamed, Wellington thought. They should have tried harder to bring more members into Sensha-dou. Auxiliary part timers just weren't enough. Wellington had underestimated the enemy and overestimated his team. One small mistake turned knowing the enemy and knowing himself into not knowing either, a certain recipe for defeat.

"Avoid what is strong and strike at what is weak," Wellington said to himself. Gordost's T-44 squadron wasn't as weak as it appeared. "OK, everybody, follow my orders to the letter. We can still win this!" said Wellington as Richard zigzagged. "Richard, put us behind that wrecked tank ahead!" The T-44 fired at them.

"We're hit!"

"Did they get us?"

"We're still moving!"

"Turret's damaged! Can't traverse." The main gun was stuck facing forward. Now they were nothing more than an overly expensive turretless tank destroyer. The Comet finally got behind the wrecked tank. The T-44 shot again, but hit the wreck instead. They were safe, for the moment.

"Everything I told you about treating the tank like your Bugatti, forget it! Stop reigning it in. Let it lose!" said Wellington.

"But, we'll lose the tracks halfway through!"

"Doesn't matter! It's now or never!"

"Wilco!" Richard was hoping it would come to this. He no longer had to hold back.

"You need to get us behind that dead Firefly at eleven o'clock, but facing the enemy. If we face them angled a bit we might shrug off a shot, and the Firefly will also provide some cover." Richard's smile became more pronounced. "I trust you can do it in one move… drift 180 degrees or something." The driver's grin was now from ear to ear.

"So you want me to spin the tank 180 degrees in one move?"

"Yes. If you can get us facing the enemy but sheltered behind the Firefly and angled a bit, that'd be great."

"I have the perfect stunt for you." Richard revved up the Comet's engine. "Let's do this!"

Sharpe was nervously tapping his foot. He had a completely straight face, but behind his apparent calm, he was focused to the breaking point. Castus wiped the sweat off his forehead and just grabbed onto what he could hold on to – it would be a bumpy ride.

"Go!" commanded Welligton. The Comet accelerated suddenly. As soon as it left the cover of the wrecked tank, the T-44 fired. The shell whizzed right between the wreck and the Comet, scratching both their turrets, then hitting the hillside behind. The T-44's turret traversed left, trying to keep a lock. The hull turned left as well, as to not present their weak rear armor to the Brits.

As the Comet reached the wrecked Firefly, Richard prepared to start his insane maneuver. "Now!" shouted Wellington. The driver pulled hard on the left stick and pushed the gas pedal even harder. With the left track locked, the Comet jerked in that direction, drifting on the grass. Bits of earth were sent flying into the air. As the rear of the tank slid on the ground, the tracks gave under the tension and broke apart. The sharp counterclockwise rotation left them immobilized but got them in position. Now, they were facing the stationary enemy ready to shoot. "FIRE!"

Both tanks fired at once while aiming at each other's hulls. The shells flew through the air at incredible speeds, but as Eton's last AP sped towards its target, the impossible happened. They collided. Midair, right in the middle between the two tanks, the two AP shells collided, shattering into pieces. That was it. They were out of ammo – sitting ducks. The T-44 had but to reload.

"Back up, Richard!"

"Our tracks are done, mate. We're stuck."

With the Tortoise dead, only they and the Black Prince remained on Eton's side, but for them, it was over. In all probability, the Black Prince would win, but Wellington hated the thought that his tank would be taken out.

"Bloody hell–" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"_Ute!_" An AP shell hit the side of the T-44s hull before it could fire. It was out! That was the last of Gordost's tanks. "_Ore wa saiko!"_ Tadatsune shouted over the radio.

"Are you OK, _Legatus?_" The Black Price had miraculously gotten in range just in time.

"I knew it was worth putting that Rolls-Royce Meteor on the BP!" cried Wellington.

Castus sighed. Markus finally relaxed. Richard jumped out of the tank to take breath of air.

"You were that close to gaining Fadin's Medal!"

"Shut up, Ryuu," said Monty. "Can I sleep now?"

"GG, Gordost!"

They had finally won.


	14. Celebrations

Richard led the members of the Eton's Sensha-dou team on the red carpet. The Music Club played Edward Elgar's _Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1_. Victory celebrations were underway. With Gordost in ashes, Eton had once again asserted the superiority of Britannia – or so the school officials portrayed it to the students. At the end of the red carpet, the school's principal was to decorate the tank crews, to the last one, official members and auxiliaries alike. Richard was radiating, as usual, but a strange aura of gloom was present around Wellington. He didn't seem content with Eton's accomplishments.

The students turned towards the crowd. In front of them, a mass of Eton boys cheered. The Sensha-dou team had been active for less than a year but had brought nothing but victories. Unfortunately, very few realized how close it actually was. _The enemy is broken. Death and dishonor are theirs today, but only by a single sword stroke._ Wellington remembered the description of close victory from one of the grand strategy games he played. It fitted the situation painfully well. The headmaster gave the medals – another addition to the crews' constantly growing collection. The truth was that they were nothing but worthless bling, but everyone was proud to wear them regardless. They gave a sense accomplishment and belonging.

After the medals were given, Richard, as the team's formal captain, held a speech. The crowd applauded, but Wellington still wasn't impressed. He felt it to be too clichéd. Eton was asleep, dreaming a sweet dream. They would be in for a rude awakening if they didn't accept their situation and improve. Celebrating such a close victory, Wellington felt ashamed. "I have something to say," he asked Richard as the boy prepared to leave the podium. Richard looked at him surprised. Wellington hated speeches, especially in front of such large crowds.

"And now, a few words from the one who made it all happen: our glorious strategist."

Wellington stepped on the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen of Eton. True, we were victorious, but it should be annihilation that Eton wants, not merely a splendid victory."

"That's Nelson, right?" Castus whispered.

"We should crush the enemy utterly. For that, we must surpass ourselves, we must grow. Eton. Must. Flourish. As such, we will introduce a harsher training program and encourage more students to practice Sensha-dou. Next time, Eton will not simply defeat the enemy. We will annihilate them!" An unexpected explosion of applause filled the air. "Floreat Etona!" Wellington ended.

* * *

"Bloody good speech, mate!" Richard cried as he open the champagne. The cork popped with a sharp noise. He poured the drink into Wellington's glass. "So, will you talk to Assam now?"

"I… Yes. I will." Wellington took a long sip from his drink.

"I got Darjeeling to buy you some time, but you can't postpone this forever."

Wellington sighed. He was looking for a way to change the subject and it was painfully obvious. Richard didn't care how awkward the situation was, he wanted to get his point across. "You'll be in charge of recruiting," Wellington finally spoke.

As if he didn't hear, Richard kept looking at his friend, a combination of concern and disappointment in his gaze. "Give it a long thought before you make your decision, Adrian."

"You really have no idea, do you?" Wellington shook his head and sighed again. "And I'm going to keep you in suspense."

"Reverse psychology doesn't work with me." Wellington started walking away from Richard. "Don't make a choice you'll regret."


	15. Vatrushka and Kissel

"Vatrushka!"

"Napoleon," Wellington nodded.

"Kissel!"

"What?"

"I think she named me after another Russian dish, mate," Richard explained.

"Welcome back to Pravda." Katyusha grabbed Richard and Wellington's hands and dragged them along. Wellington recognized the route from the last time he had visited. She was taking them to the guest quarters. "We have big party!"

"What's with the food names?" asked Wellington.

"Mate, I'm not even mad. At least she didn't shrug me off this time."

"Because you came today," Katyusha explained. "You are forgiven." Richard chuckled.

"Zdrastvooyte," said Nonna as Katyusha brought the two boys through the door. She was serving sweets to the other two guests. Katyusha let go of their hands and invited them to take a seat. Wellington recognized the strangely warm smile of Peter that could only be seen when he was at Pravda. Nonna smiled back as she served him a cup of tea. A seat to the left, Natalia, the youngest Saburov sister, glared at the girl as if she were some sort of rival. It was like a sequel to the scene he had last witnessed at Pravda, but this time Richard was present to judge.

"Spasibo, Nonna."

"Ne za chto."

Natalia's piercing stare intensified, but it had no effect. Her frown made even Wellington's pale in comparison. He looked at Richard. The boy was chuckling. Wellington would have a few questions for him once they returned to Eton. The two boys took a seat.

"Greetings Wellington! Lionheart!" Peter finally noticed their arrival. He turned towards them and nodded his head. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," Richard answered. The forced smile he put up slowly vanished.

"Peter! A pleasure as always." Wellington's grin was completely natural. He loved seeing Richard's reaction when someone other than a beautiful woman called him by his nickname. "Natalia, good evening." The girl snapped out of her intense staring session. She looked confused at Wellington, as if she didn't even notice he was there before.

"Hello," the girl said. Her eyes met Richard's. The boy had put up his usual bright greeting smile.

"Hi there," Richard said. "Don't frown, Natashenka, it ruins your brilliance." The girl gulped. She stared at him for a few seconds than looked away flustered.

"Where's Ivan and Sofia?" asked Wellington.

"They should arrive shorty," Peter explained. "Natalia insisted she come with me. Dear brother and sister had something to do…" Just as he finished his sentence, the door to the room opened. "Oh, they're here."

"Katyusha!" Ivan cried from the door. He threw his coat into the air and dashed towards the girl. Shivers went down Katyusha spine. She squealed and started running. Ivan chased her around the table like in the endings of Benny Hill. "Don't run, Katyusha! I just want to hug you!" Peter shook his head in disappointment. Natalia started frowning again.

"Not again, Natashenka!" Richard said. The girl blushed and hid her face behind her hands.

"Nonna. How are you? I missed you." Sofia shook Nonna's hand.

"Welcome back, Sofia. It has been too long."

"Gotcha!" Ivan lifted Katyusha into the air and hugged her tightly. The little girl struggled to escape the large boy's grasp to no avail.

"Let go! _Baka! Baka!"_ Katyusha started hitting Ivan in the head with her tiny fists, slapping and fighting to get away, but she did nothing but tickle Peter's brother. Then she accidentally poked him in the eye. Katyusha turned white, instantly fell silent.

Wellington and Richard were confused at why the room had suddenly become quiet. Even Nonna just stood frozen. Natalia gaped at Ivan. Peter got up, almost knocking his chair down. "_Derrmo! Sofia!" _The elder sister took a step towards Ivan, but, before she could say a word, the boy reacted.

"That wasn't nice, Katyusha!" he said. "Play nice, please." As if nothing had happened, he continued to hug the girl and move her through the air like a father would his baby girl. He rubbed his face on hers like he would cuddle a teddy-bear. "Katyusha, your skin is so soft! Do you bathe in _Kostroma _milk?"

"Eek! Vanya, you're too pushy," Katyusha complained.

"Don't worry, Katyusha. I'll give you a piggyback ride later."

"Really?" Katyusha cried. "I mean, shut up! I have Nonna!"

Everyone sighed in relief. Nonna seemed the most relieved at the situation. Natalia relaxed and looked at Peter. The boy was rubbing his forehead. It was as if some catastrophe had just been averted. "Bloody hell?" Wellington muttered.

"They were all scared," Richard whispered to him.

"I realized that much, but why–"

"So tell me, Wellington, how did you foresee our every move?" Peter interrupted.

Wellington remained silent for a second, as if thinking of what to say. "That's why you invited us here?" he asked.

"I'm also curious, Vatrushka!" Katyusha cried from on top of Ivan's shoulders. "Argh, don't hit the ceiling with me, Vanya!" Ivan was taller than even Nonna, and Nonna was quite tall for a Japanese girl.

"A magician never reveals his tricks," Wellington said.

"Is that what you are, Wellington? A magician?" Peter scanned him. The Russian was not the best commander Wellington had met, but he was almost as good as Richard when it came to reading the hearts of men.

"You see, Tadatsune has a little hawk," Richard said. "So we strapped a camera to it and used it as an UAV."

"You can't be serious…"

"Prediction, risk taking and a lot of luck." Wellington started tapping the table with his fingers. "Frankly, you were too obvious. It was easy to guess what you would do, like Rommel at the Siege of Tobruk." Peter measured Wellington's every reaction, but the boy was a good liar.

"I guess next time I'll try to be more unpredictable."


	16. RECAP

_Author's note: Apparently I've cause some confusing regarding Roosevelt. They're newcomers in the National Sensha-dou tournament, but they're not new to Sensha-dou itself. They're almost as old as Gordost._

_The non-girl-exclusive schools were never invited to take part in official Sensha-dou matches, but they still had clubs of their own and fought all the time. Eton is the only school that has a new club - about one or two years old, founded by Richard. Gordost and Roosevelt have relatively old schools that they are very well funded and have access to a very good arsenal of tanks._

* * *

So, here is the tournament so far. Check out the link in my profile for the actual picture.

KMM beat BF early on, just before Eton beat Pravda. Saunders got blown to bits by Gordost. Anzio, who had merged with Mihai Eminescu, beat Yogurt (a small reference to the Romanian-Bulgarian conflict of WW2), but was beaten by Gordost. Eton beat KMM and then Gordost.

On the other side, Gloriana beats Maginot and Ooarai (sorry Ooarai fans). Roosevelt, the newcomers, destroyed everyone, which is not surprising, given their arsenal.

* * *

While we're at it, I'll also drop some character material here:

**Eton College**  
**イ－トン**

Eton Boys Academy, also known as Eton College, is a school located in Osaka, Japan. It is an official expansion of the College of Eton independent boarding school located in Eton, Berkshire, near Windsor, made exclusively for British foreign students, but later opened to the students of other nationalities as well. Officially sanctioned by The Crown, it has a high percentage of foreign students and a massive budget. The school also received many tanks as gifts from the Royal Armed Forces, old and new.

A close relationship has been established with the St. Gloriana Girls High School due to their British thematic to, among others, offer students the opportunity to interact and socialize with member of the opposite gender, to strengthen character.

Despite having a very small number of full membership students, Eton's tank club always draws crew from various clubs to form auxiliary units during tournaments to good effect. While not as experienced as the full members, these auxiliary units compensate with numbers and discipline.

Their ship is named HMS Implacable, after the Implacable-class aircraft carrier built for the Royal Navy during World War II.

Unlike Gordost, Eton has no problem with selling their older tanks. Their arsenal once held the Vickers medium series, the Matilda, the Valentine, the Churchill and Cruiser tanks older than the Crusader, gifts from the Royal Army.

Despite not organizing expensive parades and selling their older tanks on top of having a large budget, Eton still has occasional financial problems, albeit not as large as Gordost, mostly because of the massive consumption of high quality imported tea.

Eton has numerous clubs, including a Music Club, a Literature Club, a Political Science Club and a Historical Costume Club. All of these clubs provide volunteers to bolster Eton's tank crew numbers.

**Arsenal**

A34 Comet

A39 Tortoise

A43 Black Prince

Sherman Firefly

Centurion

M3 Grant

A30 Challenger

A27M Cromwell

A15 Crusader II

A15 Crusader III

* * *

**Gordost Mixed High School**  
**(Гордост)**

**\- and -**

**ゴルドストNochnye Vedmy Girls Squad**  
**(Ночные Ведьмы)**  
**ノチニェベヅミ**

Gordost has two tank clubs, the main club being heavily funded and boy exclusive, with a second, smaller, low budget girls-only club. Early in the school's history, the boys and girls of Gordost drove tanks in the same club. Nobody remembers the reason of the schism, but one day, the girls decided to leave the main club and form the Night Witches. After a few generations, the boys and girls kissed and made up, leading to a reunion of the clubs. From there on, the Night Witches served as Gordost Light Tank division.

It has one of the largest arsenal of tanks and probably the most members of all schools in Japan, rivaling even Pravda. Also, unlike Pravda, they have quite a number of foreign students and are heavily funded, thus able to field expensive tanks. The tank club has a lot of members and is thus capable of fielding a lot of tanks, but many of them are forced to take part in club activities so morale is low and people aren't so involved.

Their ship is named Admiral Kuznetsov, after the Kuznetsov class aircraft carrier Admiral of the Fleet of the Soviet Union Kuznetsov (Admiral Flota Sovetskovo Soyuza Kuznetsov / Адмира́л фло́та Сове́тского Сою́за Кузнецо́в).

Gordost tank club often organizes military parades in association with its Reenactment Club to raise the morale of its members as well as entertain Kuznetsov's students and families.

Despite its heavy funding, Gordost difficulty selling its older tanks and military parades takes a toll on its available funds. The schools excessive pride is widely considered to be their greatest weakness, both on the battlefield and in financial matters.

Gordost is one of the oldest academies in Japan. Most of its older tanks are placed in a museum that can be visited, for a fee. For a higher fee, the visitors can even drive the tanks. This somewhat alleviates the financial pressure.

Despite being a Soviet themed, mostly foreign student school, Gordost is not officially supported by the Russians, unlike Eton, who is officially supported by the British. All tanks in Gordost's arsenal have been purchased.

**Arsenal**

SU-85M

T-34/76F

KV-1C

KV-1S

KV-85

T-34/85

SU-100

SU-122

SU-152

T-44A

ISU-152

ISU-122S

SU-100Y

T-150

IS-2m

IS-3

IS-4

* * *

**Mihai Eminescu High School**

Mihai Eminescu High School is a Romanian themed school based in Japan. Their ship is called Sarmizegetusa Regia, after the capital and the most important military, religious and political center of the Dacians prior the wars with the Roman Empire. Their ship is not named after an aircraft carrier because the Romanian Navy never had one.

They constantly had financial problems, ultimately being forced disband the school, decommission the Sarmizegetusa and transfer most students to Anzio Girls High School that, also because of financial problems, had to switch to co-ed like Ooarai. Some of the students blame the headmaster for the financial problems and call him _Basescu_, after Romanian Minister of Transportation and later president who oversaw privatization of Romania's merchant fleet.

Their Sensha-dou Club Captain is _Antonescu_. He is nicknamed after Ion Victor Antonescu, _Câinele Roşu_ ("Red Dog"), a Romanian soldier and authoritarian politician, the Prime Minister and _Conducător_ during most of World War II. During his childhood, he was friend with Eton's Augustus. Back in the day, they were called Decebalus and Trajan.

* * *

**Roosevelt Boys High School**

Roosevelt Boys High School is an US themed school based in Japan. Their ship is based on and named after the USS Enterprise, the third Gerald R. Ford-class aircraft carrier to be built for the United States Navy.

The school is very rich due to the sponsorship received from various US companies. They also shoot all sorts heavily sponsored shows on their school ship, targeted at US audiences, which further increases their income. Among the shows they produce shipside are famous reality television series such as _16 and driving tanks, Teen Commander,_ and _Meet the Host Club_, documentaries such as _Hottest American Guns - Let's Shoot 'em _and _Tyrone Talks Tanks_ as well teen drama shows like _I wish I was a Sherman._

**Arsenal**

**Tank - **_**Gun**_

M22 Locust - _37mm M6_

M24 Chaffe - _75mm M6_

T26E3/M26 Pershing -_ 90mm M3_

T26E4 (T15E1) Super Pershing - _90mm T15E1_

T26E4 (T15E2) Super Pershing - _90mm T15E2_

T26E5 Heavy Pershing -_ 90mm M3_

T28 Super Heavy Tank - _105mm T5E1_

M4A3E2 Jumbo - _76mm M1_

M4A3E8/M4A3(76)W HVSS Sherman - _76mm M1A2_

T29E2 - _105mm T5E2_

T30E1 - _155mm L/40 T7_

T34 - _120mm T53_

T32E1 - _90mm T15E2_


	17. The Calm Before the Storm

_Author's Note: And now to explain what happened with the match Gloriana was supposed to have with Roosevelt._

_Author's Note 2: Removed "IED" from the news and added another sentence in the third paragraph._

* * *

The Saint Gloriana girls were on one of their frequent visits to HMS Implacable. Such rendezvous had become a habit and a pleasant break from the weekly routine.

"Check," said Assam.

"Not bad. You're learning fast," said Wellington. He moved a pawn to save his king. He was teaching Assam how to play chess better. She had shown interest in the art of strategy, although Richard teased Wellington that she was simply finding excuses to spend time with him. Wellington still hadn't given Assam his answer, but at least he had finally rescheduled his date with her for the weekend. Richard guessed it was the main reason the girl was so well disposed. Sadly, it wouldn't last long if Wellington turned her down, as Richard presumed.

Orange Pekoe arm-wrestled Castus. She was apparently winning, but Wellington believed Castus was going easy on her. Richard and Darjeeling simply drank tea. The boy had flirted surprising little with her that evening. The TV was playing BBC News. It was a pleasantly quiet and relaxing evening.

Darjeeling suddenly stood up, spilling some tea on the floor. Wellington didn't understand what happened at first, until Richard unmuted the television. "Breaking news from east coast of Japan. HMS Ark Royal has been the target of what appears to be a terrorist attack. The port side suffered heavy damage, but all students and crewmembers are presently unharmed and being evacuated. The source of the explosion has yet to be discovered, but–"

The sound of breaking porcelain echoed in the room. Darjeeling's teacup slipped from her hand, hitting the ground and shattering to pieces. "I need to go there, now!" she said, and tried to run for the door. Richard grabbed her by the hand.

"Wait! You'll just put yourself in danger," he pleaded.

"But… I'm their captain… I need to help them…" Darjeeling tried to free herself from Richard's hold, but she couldn't. The boy dragger her towards him and hugger her tightly.

"It's OK. Everything will be OK. We'll–"

"I just told the Captain to set a course for Ark Royal," interrupted Wellington. He put down his cellphone on the table, next to the chessboard. "We should be there in time to help with the evacuation. But there's not much else we can do." Wellington looked at Assam. Tears were flowing down cheeks. She couldn't believe what was happening, but as she wiped her eyes, she smiled at him, appreciative. The boy blushed. "Well, that's… err… the least we can do." Orange Pekoe was crying too. Castus simply held his hand on her shoulder.

"Why strike the Ark Royal?" Wellington pondered. He focused his mind trying to solve the puzzle. "It makes no sense. Who would have to gain from it?" Wellington frowned. He had hoped Gloriana would beat Roosevelt and face them in the finals. "What will the Federation do with one of the semi-finalists in this condition?" he muttered to himself, even if he knew the answer. They were out – Roosevelt would win by default – but that was the least of Gloriana's worries.

Darjeeling was weeping in Richard's arms. He held her tight even as she soaked his shirt in tears. A thought crossed his mind – perhaps it was not all lost. "A bend in the road is not the end of the road... unless you fail to make the turn," he said.


	18. Official Business

"Our previous encounter with Gordost made evident the importance of a skilled crew," said Wellington. "We barely won, despite our technical superiority. A harsher training program and recruitment campaign to bolster our full member numbers have been planned, but it will not be enough."

Wellington and Richard were informing the Sensha-dou Club about future changes. Everyone was present, full members and auxiliaries alike. It was the first major meeting they had since the battle against Gordost. An aura of gloom surrounded the club's leaders. Wellington was frowning more than usual and Richard looked as if he had lost all the light in his eyes, aimlessly staring into the distance.

"As you know, after the attack on and subsequent scuttle of HMS Ark Royal, and the upcoming decommission and replacement of HMS Implacable with HMS Eagle, it has been decided that Eton will be converted to co-ed." A wave of cheers filled the room. The boys of Eton were still ecstatic about the news of girls joining the college. A look of disgust came over Wellington's face. Monty opened one of his eyes and shook his head. Heinz stared outside the window. Something bothered him, but it was not the callous reaction of his schoolmates.

"Open season!" cried Dorian, Patton's gunner and an infamous lady killer. He was nicknamed after Oscar Wilde's character, although not by Wellington. His heart breaking habits put him at odds with many, but he was a decent shot.

"I'm telling Anzu!" retorted Shiro. He was Patton's driver and Dorian's self-proclaimed nemesis. Complete opposite to his sworn enemy, Shiro was a praised relationship councilor, but completely incapable of making a move on girls himself.

Dorian was taken aback at first, but quickly regained his composure. "Don't mess with me, kid, or I'll go for Saori again and turn you into a cuckold."

"A what?" Shiro asked. "Empty threats. If Anzu gets a wind of this, you're fried. And we both know you like her."

"Nonsense!" Dorian said. His voice trembled. He sounded unconvincing. "I'm just... err… having fun–"

Richard slammed his fist down on the table as if he wanted to break it in half. The thud echoed through the room followed by nothing but silence. Everyone froze. "Saint Gloriana had their school ship sunk! Do any of you even comprehend the implications?!" It was rare that anyone saw him furious. "You bloody bastards…" Richard muttered. He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Wellington's frown turned into a look of concern. Richard had a knack for understanding the needs of others, but he always absorbed their emotions like a sponge. It killed him inside to see the Tea Garden suffer so, especially Darjeeling. Wellington was colder. It didn't affect him as much, but it would have been a lie to say that he didn't care at all.

Wellington should have been enthusiastic himself. With his plans accepted and the Tea Garden joining Eton, he had many reasons to be. Unfortunately, the context was more than tragic. "As a side note," the boy finally continued his speech, "HMS Eagle hasn't been launched yet, and there have been considerations on whether it would be sensible to instead name the ship HMS Audacious, in memory of Gloriana's Ark Royal."

"Err... sir?" Patton raised his hand. He was still shaken by Richard's outburst. "Why… Audacious?"

"I can explain," Monty said. Normally, he'd be dozing off at the club meetings, but he was fully awake. "At first, HMS Eagle, pennant number R05, was called Audacious. First of its kind, it named the class. HMS Ark Royal R09 was her sister ship, also of the Audacious-class. The Audacious was renamed at the start of 1946 after the previous Eagle, pennant number 94, which was sunk in 1942, the same way HMS Ark Royal R09 was first called Irresistible, but named after the third Ark Royal, pennant number 91, which was lost in 1941."

"Correct, Montgomery…" Wellington said. "Regardless, the girls of Saint Gloriana will join us starting next semester. That includes their tank crews. Some of you might know them. They shall be treated with utmost respect as they will bring much needed experience. I need not remind you of their prowess. Their numbers and skill paired with our tanks will assure that nothing shall stay in our way."

Wellington feared that since Eton would turn co-ed, boys would no longer want to join the Sensha-dou club even as auxiliaries, since they'd have enough girls around all the time. It would be even more difficult to get people to join as full members, but at the very least, the experienced Gloriana crews would make a difference.

"When do we start training?" Patton asked. The atmosphere was too gloomy. Richard's fit of anger was not an overreaction, but Wellington didn't want everyone to be depressed.

"This weekend. And I expect as many people as possible to come!" Wellington's sudden change in tone and temperament surprised everyone. "Eton needs you! Floreat Etona!"

"Hooah!" said Patton, back to his usual disposition. He was the only one looking forwards to more training. As if not having heard the answer, Heinz kept staring into the distance. Something was on his mind. Wellington would have to question him later.

"Please tell me this won't affect my wake up hours," moaned Monty. "It's been bugging me ever since you did the unimaginable and held a speech."

"That will be all, gents. Dismissed," said Wellington.

* * *

"I can't do this, Adrian," Richard cried.

"If we don't do something, we'll never improve." Wellington glared at his blond friend. Normally, it was Richard who put him in situations he'd desperately try to escape from, but that evening the roles were reversed.

"I don't want to blackmail people like Dorian's domme– err, sorry, _girlfriend._"

Sharpe cracked up. "Anzu? Domme?"

"What the bloody hell is a _domme_?" asked Wellington.

"Dominatrix," explained Castus, deadpan as usual.

"Oh…" Wellington's mind drifted for a few seconds as he pondered the reason for the comparison, but he soon realized the futility of it and quickly returned to his demand. "No comment. You digress!" Richard was trying to distract him, he would have none of it. "We need more recruits!"

"Won't the Gloriana girls be enough?" Richard said.

"No." Wellington frowned as he spit the words vehemently.

"Then you do it!" Richard crossed his arms. He would give no quarter.

"I'm a military commander, not a politician. I can't hold speeches to anyone but soldiers." Wellington started walking circles around Richard, as he often did when he was part of a heated argument.

"That didn't stop you at the victory celebrations!" Richard said. He followed Wellington with his eyes. His friend's movement made him dizzy.

"That was an exception!"

"I'll do it!" said a boy that had just entered the room. Plain looking, to say the least, his only defining characteristic were his glasses, which he adjusted as he spoke. "I'm from the Political Science Club. I want to join. I'll handle recruitment."

"Oh, it's the kid that called me a kraut," said Heinz, finally awake from his trance.

"Err… about that…" the Political Sciences boy tried to excuse himself.

"He's OK," Heinz continued. "He backed me up during the Gordost match. But he _is_ a bit racist."

"Done! You're in!" said Wellington. "We'll call you _Churchill_."


	19. An Evening Out

"And don't forget: in a restaurant, the gentleman enters first!" Richard said.

"Bloody hell, I know!" Wellington cried.

After endless postponing, countless reschedules, a disaster, even if fate itself seemed against it, Wellington finally managed to take Assam out for dinner like he promised. The anticipated evening met the boy under pressure from his friend, who wanted to make sure everything was perfect.

"You're worse than my mother!" Wellington cried.

"Ah, you've grown up so fast," Richard said.

"What?"

"Oh, and don't forget! Sit at a table facing the exit of the restaurant."

"By God!" Wellington roared. "Stop with all the pampering! You're making me more nervous than necessary." The boy cringed at the thought of Castus, or even worse, Sharpe, witnessing the scene. It would have ruined his authority. He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Get out," he ordered. "I've only called you to make sure I got everything right, not to learn basic etiquette. God knows I've had enough lessons on that back home."

"So, why did you pick a restaurant on the other side of the Audacious?" Richard asked.

"Between you and Darjeeling eavesdropping on the whole thing, I'll take Darjeeling."

"What will be your answer?" Richard suddenly became serious, yet his friend seem unaffected by his change in disposition. Wellington chuckled, but said nothing. "If you let her down, at least be nice about it," Richard said.

* * *

"First date, you can't go with a strapless dress yet," Darjeeling said.

"Yes," Earl Grey confirmed. "Also, skirt has to be knee length."

Assam nodded her head with enthusiasm. Wide-eyed, she paid close attention to what her seniors recommended, making sure to take in every detail. Who else would she ask for help? Earl Grey was a wise and experienced alumna and Darjeeling had gone on countless dates with Richard before. Between the two of them, Assam was sure to find the perfect dress for the occasion.

"Red!" said Darjeeling. "To attract attention."

"No. Too flashy." Earl Grey shook her head. "Blue. Complements her hair color."

"You have a point," Darjeeling said. "What do you think, Pekoe?"

The girls quickly decided on the general traits of the dress, but finding the actual dress lead to a weekend long quest through the shops of HMS Audacious. After searching every corner of the school ship, the Tea Garden finally found the perfect choice.

A blur of vivid, brilliant blue streaked across Assam's vision as Darjeeling revealed a dress. It hung from the hanger like a silken scarf. Like a topaz, it shone in the girl's eyes. It was perfect. "Well, what are you waiting for? Put it on!" Darjeeling said.

Assam dispread in the changing booth. While Earl Grey waited patiently, Darjeeling tapped her foot and walked a couple of circles around Orange Pekoe, who tried to keep up a smile as her senior orbited around her. Darjeeling was very enthusiastic at the occasion. She always wanted to help her juniors. Richard hadn't told her what he thought about Wellington's intentions, mostly because he still hoped he was wrong. After a few minutes, Assam emerged from the changing room.

"Perfect!" said Darjeeling. "Just perfect."

"Marvelous," Earl Grey said. "Fits wonderfully." The girl stroke her chin. "You'll blow him away with this one."

"Darjeeling-sama, Earl Grey-sama, you've overdone yourselves," said Pekoe.

The red in Assam's cheeks intensified. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "Thank you, _senpai-tachi!"_ she said, as her tears stubbornly refused to stop.

"Oh, don't go all teary on us," Earl Grey said.

"You've grown so fast!" Darjeeling exclaimed. A few tears flowed down her own cheeks. Orange Pekoe grabbed her by a sleeve and started crying on her shoulder. Darjeeling patted her on head. "There, there, Pekoe."

"I'm sorry. This is too intense," Orange Pekoe said. Moved by the reaction, Assam couldn't hold back either. It was contagious.

All three girls shed tears of joy, one more than the other. Only Earl Grey smiled from the corner of the shop. "How troublesome juniors I have." She giggled. "What will I ever do with you?"

* * *

"Finally on that date with Assam, eh?" Sharpe asked. He stopped cleaning gun parts and looked straight at Wellington.

"Yes," Wellington answered.

"Good luck."

"Thank you," Wellington said. Sharpe returned to his cleaning duties. Even if only used the guns for the firing range, he still preferred to have them spotless. "What, no sarcasm?" Wellington asked.

"I know how stressful first dates can be. I won't push you…" the gunner said, not lifting his eyes from the gun parts.

"How kind of you…" Wellington retorted. "So, you won't ask me if I'm going to let her down, like Richard always does?"

"I'm not playing your games. Besides, you always tell me everything in the last second…" Sharpe paused for a moment. "I'm the guy who can't appreciate an English rose. Why should I care?"

* * *

The sun was setting as Wellington got out of the car. The new building the Tea Garden received on HMS Audacious rivaled their old clubhouse on HMS Ark Royal in both size and style – a two-storey mansion with a massive garden in the back. Eton spared no expense to accommodate the girls.

Wellington waited in front of the entrance. Assam would be down any moment. And then he saw her. She looked like an angel coming down the stairs in her azure dress, like the sky on a clear summer day. It hung beautifully on her body, its intense color bringing out the best features in her. Assam's voluminous blonde hair bounced as she stepped. He gaped for what it seemed like a few minutes. Her eyes met his for a second, then she looked away.

"Good evening," Assam said with an unsteady voice, snapping Wellington out of his trance.

"By God, you look marvelous!" the boy said. His strategy of thinking about everything as combat helped keep his head cool. Assam's face lit up. She smiled brightly at her date and stepped forward. "Shall we?" Wellington opened the right backseat door to his Rolls Royce. The girl got in. The boy went around the car and got in through the left backseat door. "To the restaurant, Sébastien, please."

The driver adjusted his mirror and gave his two passengers a short look through it. "Oui, monsieur!"

* * *

After Wellington took Assam home, he returned to his office. At one hour to midnight, he still had time to go over his notes on Roosevelt. The finals would prove to be very difficult. He had to give it his all. Everyone was relying on him.

The door squeaked as the boy opened it. "I should get that oiled," Wellington said to himself. A dark room greeted him with nothing but silence. He hit the light switch, but the light stayed off. "Bloody hell… it died too?" At his desk, the lamp was probably still functional. He moved towards it. The door squeaked again as it closed by itself. A chill went down Wellington's spine. He switched the lamp on and turned around in an instant.

"You're going to tell me everything!" a voice said. Richard was standing in front of the closed door.

"Bloody hell, mate! You almost gave me a heart attack." Richard had waited for him inside. It was an ambush. "Don't sneak on me like that!"

"What happened?" Richard grabbed Wellington by his shoulders. He stared at him wide-eyed, curiosity obvious in his gaze. "Tell me!"

"OK! OK! Calm down!" Wellington pulled himself free from his friend's grasp. "Sit down."

"Did she slap you?"

"No."

"Did she punch you?!"

"No!"

"Then how did she react?!"

"I didn't reject her! I never meant to reject her! It was all in your imagination!"

"What?!" Richard gaped at Wellington, confusion written all over his face. "But you said…"

"I said you can't read my like a book," Wellington explained. "What I meant is not that you weren't right that I like her, but that you were wrong to think that I'd reject her. Understand?"

"Then why did you–"

"I told you," Wellington interrupted. "To keep you in suspense. It was so entertaining to keep you in the dark."

Wellington went to his desk and sat down in his chair. A ton of papers were stacked on the work surface. He put a few aside and started reading one. Richard looked dumb-folded for a few seconds, than stroke his chin for a few more, then finally returned to a relaxed stance. The door opened squeaking. Sharpe entered the room. He went straight to Wellington's desk and put a paper on it.

Sharpe looked at Richard, who still stood silently in the middle of the room, then at Wellington. The room was quiet. Sharpe raised an eyebrow. "So, how was the date?"

* * *

"Did you kiss? Did you kiss?!" Darjeeling approached Assam the moment she entered the door. The girl instantly turned red. Darjeeling grabbed her hands and looked deeply into her eyes, almost invasive. It wasn't often that Darjeeling broke from her calm and chivalrous demeanor, but when she did, it was quite a sight to behold. Pekoe chuckled nervously from the table her senior had launched herself towards Assam, but she couldn't deny she wasn't a bit curious herself. Earl Grey peeked with the corner of her eye.

"Erm… yes," the girl answered, her cheeks still crimson.

Earl Grey stood up. "Oooh! I didn't expect him to be so bold on your fist date."

"Oh my! Oh my!" Darjeeling exclaimed.

"It was unbelievable," Assam said. A smile slowly grew on her face. She was opening up.

"We want to hear everything!" Darjeeling said. "Pekoe, get more tea and unplug the phone!"

"I'll get the tea, you get the kettle," Earl Grey said to Orange Pekoe.

"Assam, did it end well or de we need to get tissues?" Darjeeling asked.

"Well! I guess…" Assam said.

"Don't start without us," Earl Grey said as she returned to the room with a bag of black tea. Pekoe brought the kettle and all four girls sat at the table.

"Let's hear about the kiss. Was it like a soft brush against your lips?" asked Darjeeling, wide-eyed. "Or was it passionate, intense, like he wanted to be with you forever?"

"Err… at first it was really soft…" Assam said. "Then we got closer… and we hugged… eep!" Everyone except Earl Grey let out a squeal of surprise just as the kettle started whistling. Between the girls and the high-pitched noise of steam escaping, the room echoed like the chirps of squirrels.

"Oh my! Oh my!" Darjeeling cried. A few tears went down her cheeks. "This is so intense."

"Assam-san, I'm so jealous," said Pekoe.

"Oooh! I didn't think Wellington was so daring," said Earl Grey.

"When did it happen?" Darjeeling asked.

"After he brought me back… in front of the door…" Assam explained.

"But that's practically ten minutes ago!" Darjeeling said.

"Yes…" The blood returned to Assam's cheeks. He placed her palms on her face, as if to hide from her schoolmates. Heat radiated from her skin.

"Oooooooh!" Darjeeling squealed again. "You need to tell us everything that happened before!"

"This will be a long night," said Earl Grey. "I hope we have enough tea."

* * *

"So, how was the date?" asked Sharpe.

"Fine," Wellington answered. "Took her there, spent some time, brought her back."

"K," Sharpe said.

"Dropped her at the Tea Garden."

"You kissed?" Sharpe asked.

"Yeah."

"Cool." Sharpe nodded and went for the door. "Told you, Richard!"

The door squeaked as it closed. Wellington frowned. "I really have to get that oiled."


	20. Management Problems

"No amount of ability is of the slightest avail without honor!" Darjeeling said.

"That's Andrew Carnegie, right?" Pekoe guessed.

"True. Ability without honor is useless," said Augustus.

"And that's Marcus Tullius Cicero," guessed Castus.

"How are those two different quotes? They both said the same thing…" Wellington rubbed his forehead. "We will not stop using Comets and Fireflies," he turned back at Darjeeling. "We're only improving our overall efficiency and you want me to set us back again? We're kind enough not to field Centurions."

It was one week before the end of the semester and the official merger between Gloriana and Eton. The Sensha-dou teams, however, were eager to start working together. Darjeeling was already trying to convince Wellington to change his modus operandi. She felt that Eton had too many modern tanks in its lineup. The merger brought a welcomed addition of new blood and experienced, but lead to some management problems. Darjeeling agreed to let Richard remain the official captain, and Richard swore to _always_ heed her advice, but Wellington remained the main figurehead when it came to strategy and tactics. Darjeeling's power over Richard was of no use. To achieve her goal, she had to go through Eton's glorious strategist.

"But victory without honor is tasteless!" Darjeeling cried.

"Can we at least use less modern tanks when we face weaker schools?" suggested Assam.

After a moment of silence, Wellington sighed. "Of course, that isn't a problem," he said. "Just don't make me face Roosevelt with Crusaders."

Darjeeling smiled and winked at Assam as if saying "nice job" to the girl, but Assam didn't seem to understand what she meant. "So we'll settle to deciding the line up on a case by case basis," Darjeeling concluded.

"If you would have said that from the get go, we wouldn't have had this conversation," said Wellington.

"Good! Then I'll be on my way. Ta-ta!" Darjeeling left the room with Pekoe and Assam. Heinz, who up until then silently observed the discussion, stood up. He had been waiting for the girls to leave.

"_Herr Kommandant,_ there is another issue," the boy started. "The History Club wishes to transfer to Ooarai."

"What?" Monty jumped to his feet. "You're deserting?"

"Hush, Monty," said Wellington. He took a sip of tea. "It was not unexpected. I might not be Richard, but I foresaw this." Heinz's relationship with Erwin developed much faster than anticipated. To top it off, Ooarai's financial situation made a good excuse. Heinz would certainly mention it.

"They are on the brink of bankruptcy. I do believe that we can be of help." Wellington wasn't sure whether this was simply an excuse, or if Heinz really did want to help Ooarai, but it definitely wasn't the main reason he wanted to transfer.

"Yes… I guess it _is_ difficult to keep in touch with Ooarai's history club from here. Relations aren't as close as between us and Gloriana…" Wellington said. "At least not yet…" he mumbled to himself.

"As it is, they have more need of us than you do…" Wellington expected a stronger reaction from Heinz at the mention of Ooarai's history club. The German was emotionally stronger than he was. "Especially with Gloriana joining Eton's ranks."

"Yes, now with Goriana joining us, it's the best time for you to desert without much of a fuss…" said Monty. "Makes me wonder… did you put that bomb on the Ark Royal?" Heinz frowned. He and Monty had their rivalry, but it was usually him who did the teasing. Recently, however, Monty upped his game. "I'm joking, of course."

"I'll miss you too, _primadonna,_" Heinz said.

"It's not like we'll never meet again, _Wehraboo_. I'll visit you at Ooarai. Maybe with Rommel at your back you'll stand a better chance against me."

"Well, there's probably nothing I can say to stop you, so, you have my blessing." Wellington took a deep breath. "I will miss the hours we spent cooking up convoluted strategies together." Heinz chuckled. "I'll even miss your incomprehensible Latin sayings, August."

"It was an honor to fight by your side, _Legatus_."

"Hell, I'll even miss Tadatsune and Ryouma, even if I didn't get to interact with them that much."

"Thank you for your understanding, _Kommandant._"

"Oh, and one final thing. I've got a StuG III G upgrade kit for Ooarai's StuG III F. A parting gift… to smooth things over with the ladies."

_"Dankeschön, Kommandant. _But when did you –_"_

"That and the StuG IV you've purchased should make you quite the welcome addition to Ooarai."

"You knew…" Heinz said.

"I know everything, Guderian." Wellington smiled deviously.

"As expected of our glorious strategist…" Heinz smiled back. "Well then, we'll be on our way. It was an honor, _Kommandnat_. We'll be off the ship by the end of the week. _Guten tag!"_

"_Ave, Wellington, transfugae te salultant!"_


	21. Schneller Heinz und die Wüstenfuchsin

Fast Heinz and the Desert Vixen – that was how Erwin and Heinz were called by their teammates. Eton's former Historical Costumes Club was a welcomed addition to Ooarai's history buffs, and perhaps even more to Ooarai's Sensha-dou teams. A pity the boys had arrived too late to tip the balance against Gloriana in the tournament.

"Remember how we first met, Fräulein Fuchsin?" Heinz asked.

Erwin grabbed his arm and leaned on his shoulder. "How can I forget? The party your friend threw was quite something."

* * *

Vivaldi's Concerto No. 1 in E major, Op. 8, "La primavera" was playing in the background as guests mingled in the ballroom. "This party sure is extravagant…" said a short girl with unruly black hair. She shifted the weight from on leg to the other and adjusted her red eyeglasses.

_"Nicht Kleckern sondern Klotzen!"_ Heinz reached to lift his cap, but realized he wasn't dressed in his usual German uniform.

"That's Guderian's most famous quote!" another girl said. "'Boot 'em, don't spatter 'em,' would be the rough translation!" Her blonde hair was arranged in a peculiar way, resembling the ears of a fennec fox.

"That makes no sense, Erwin…" said a third girl. She had long red brown hair and a pair of dark brown eyes. For some reason, she kept her left eye closed.

"Yes it does, Saemonza! It means 'don't do things by half'! It fits perfectly in the context."

"Franz Oskar Vogt, at your service," Heinz took a bow. "It's good to see people who share my interest in the Heer. People call me Heinz, and these are my friends and fellow historians."

_"Ave! Hospites vos salutant!"_ August's roman salute looked dubious when done in a tuxedo, but that didn't stop him from performing it. "I am Augustus, at your service."

"Our resident ancient Rome specialist," explained Heinz. "And a good strategist, if I might add."

* * *

"Come on, you lovebirds, wake up." Mako interruption, although lazy as everything else she did, was enough to stop Erwin and Heiz's recollection and bring them back to reality. They had already reached their destination. Before them stood Oorai's brand new StuG IV and newly modified StuG III G. On top, the rest of the History Club stared at them. Erwin was still clinging on Heinz's arm. The girl let go in an instant, but it was too late – her cheeks were already bright red.

"Guderian, at your service, _Kommandant!"_ Heinz stood at attention in towards Miho. She chuckled nervously as Saori shrieked around her with excitement. It wasn't the first time the young couple got that reaction from Oorai's self-proclaimed relationship councilor.

"It's okay, Vogt-san… err… at ease…"

"Please, _Kommandant_, call me Heinz."

"Okay, Heinz-san."

"_Centurion_, were discussing what name to give our tank," August approached Heinz and greeted with his usual roman salute.

"Name our tank?" Heinz asked.

"Of course, all the tanks have names. We have Anglerfish Team, Hippo Team..." Miho explained.

"Ah, I see," Heinz said. "It is a form of tradition."

"Like the traditions of Roman Legions!" August added.

"So, what name do you want to have?" Miho asked again.

"What do you think, team?" Heinz looked around. The boys gathered in a circle, but didn't seem to have any ideas.

Suddenly, Tadatsune's face lit. "Tora! Tora! Tora!" he shouted.

"Tiger…" pondered Heinz. "_Ja,_ I like it!"


	22. RECAP 2 - Tanks

_Author's Note: First of all, go back to the first RECAP chapter, I've added some more details on Roosevelt. Second of all, I'm working on a longer chapter right now that should be released this weekend or next week. Progress has been slow, but I did manage to get some work done on Roosevelt, who was, until now, undeveloped (as in I had no idea what characters they should have). To kill time, I'll drop here the description of the tanks fielded by my various schools. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

**ETON**

**Cruiser Tanks**

**A15 Cruiser Mark VI Crusader**

The original production version was the Mark I, with the Mark II having increased armor on the hull and turret front. These first two models had 5 man crews, although during the war the auxiliary turret was often removed in the field, eliminating the hull machine gunner position. The Mark I and II used the 2 pounder gun.

The Mark III was up-gunned with the 6 pounder gun and its turret received an extractor fan to clear fumes. The larger gun restricted turret space so the crew was reduced to three, with the commander acting also as gun loader. The auxiliary turret space was given over to ammunition stowage.

One of the weakest and oldest Eton tanks still in its arsenal, this vehicle is kept in service mostly for basic training. Eton has a number of Crusader II and IIIs.

**A27M Cruiser Mark VIII Cromwell VII**

The fastest tank in Eton's arsenal, the Cromwell is also one of the oldest and is no longer used in action. The Cromwell's Meteor engine is very reliable and gives the Cromwell good mobility, but with some problems. The tank is prone to throwing its tracks if track tension is not maintained properly or if it turned at too high a speed or too sharply. There are also some problems with suspension breakage, partly due to the Cromwell's high speed. When driving it, Richard learned to treat it like his Bugatti Veyron, reigning it in despite its potential lest he caused mechanical problems.

It uses the Ordnance QF 75 mm Gun, which unfortunately means it is not a very capable anti-tank vehicle, but it complements the Challenger well.

**A30 Cruiser Mark VIII Challenger**

Compared to the Cromwell, the Challenger requires two loaders and has a larger turret as well as a lengthened hull and an extra road wheel. This change in length, without a corresponding change in width across the tracks, leads to reduced mobility compared to the Cromwell. It is no longer used by Eton, but still in their arsenal as a backup piece.

It uses the Ordnance QF 17-pounder, the most powerful WW2 British gun.

**A34 Cruiser Comet I**

The Comet corrects some of the Cromwell's flaws (the track shedding and broken suspension problems) and enhances the Cromwell's main strengths, low height and high speed. It has a 77mm HV gun that has a lower muzzle velocity, but is much more compact and more easily stored and handled ammunition. Other improvements include: increased armor protection, ammunition stored in armored bins, suspension strengthened and electrically traversed turret. This tank is still used by Eton. Unfortunately, it is slightly less capable than the Challenger because of the lower velocity of its shells.

**Experimental Tanks**

**A39 Tortoise Heavy Assault**

A British heavy assault tank developed for the task of clearing heavily fortified areas and as a result favored armor protection over mobility. It is mostly used as a stationary hard hitter by Eton. Although heavy and not readily transported, it is a mechanically reliable, powerful and accurate gun platform.

It uses the Ordnance QF 32-pounder, a British 94 mm gun.

**A43 Black Prince**

As a development from the Churchill, the Black Prince was a continuation of the line of Infantry Tanks and the only Infantry Tank used by Eton. With better armor than the Comet, this tank is used as a heavy and spectacle piece.

It uses a larger gun than the conventional Churchill on a larger turret, wider turret ring and tank hull. Ten tons heavier than the Churchill, it has better 10 inches wider tracks. Historically, the Churchill's engine was retained, leading to the tank's being underpowered and slow, with maximum speeds of 16.9 km/h on roads and 12.1 km/h cross country. Eton received League approval to upgrade it to the Rolls-Royce Meteor engine, an idea that historically never left the drawing-board, increasing the available power. Just like in history, plans to fit the Black Prince with the turret from the Centurion were never carried out. The Centurion has frontal armor of comparable effectiveness to the Black Prince, but is not fielded under normal circumstances, so this tank is still useful in normal battles.

Eton upgraded its armor from the Bedford Type 120 horizontally opposed 12-cylinder 350hp engine to the Rolls-Royce Meteor Mark III V12 petrol 600hp engine.

**Medium Tanks**

**Sherman Firefly**

The Sherman Firefly was a tank based on the US M4 Sherman but fitted with the powerful 3-inch (76.2 mm) caliber British 17-pounder anti-tank gun as its main weapon. It's mostly used by the unit under Patton's command.

**M3 Grant**

Eton has or had one M3A5 Grant II, one Grant Command and one M3 Grant I. The Grant I was sold for being too old. The Grant II was also sold recently, mostly because it was "too American" on top of being old. The Grant Command is kept as a spectacle piece, and one of the few tanks Eton has but does not use.

**Main Battle Tanks**

**Centurion**

The Centurion, introduced in 1945, was the primary British main battle tank of the post-World War II period. It is widely considered to be one of the most successful post-war tank designs, but being post-war, Eton does not use it in traditional battles. Richard used it to get closer to Darjeeling, who is a fan of the tank.

Despite having it in store, Eton refuses to use it in tournaments unless truly necessary due to a chivalrous sense of fair play. Eton has plans to field the Mark II if facing opponents such as KMM, Pravda and Gordost, if they themselves decided to field overpowered tanks such as the Maus or late IS tanks, although they only obtained it before their match against Gordost and chose not to use it.

The Mark II that Eton has is better armored that the Mark I, more mobile than the Comet and equipped with the Ordnance QF 17-pounder 76.2 mm gun.

* * *

**GORDOST**

**Gordost (First Tanks)**

The first tanks purchased by Gordost, very early in their history. Presently, they would never use them against anyone but the weakest schools.

**SU-85M**

The **SU-85** was one of the first vehicles and the weakest of the SU series Gordost acquired. Anything older or weaker was considered disgraceful even during the schools early history. Based on the chassis of the T-34 medium tank and armed with a 85 mm D-5S gun, this vehicle became rapidly obsolete as the school acquired T-34/85s. It is no longer used in any matches by Gordost, unless they face very weak schools, in which case they use it in combination with the T-34/76F. They considered selling them to Pravda but decided to keep them in their museum.

The particular variant Gordost used was the SU-85M, improved with a SU-100 style cupola.

**T-34/76F**

The first tanks used by Gordost early in the school's history, the T-34 Model 1943 is armed with the F-34 76.2 mm gun. It was rendered rapidly obsolete, just like the SU-85. It's presently used as a museum piece, but Gordost sometimes uses it against very weak schools.

**KV-1C / KV-1S / KV-85**

The **KV-1C **is a KV-1 with fully cast turret, thicker armor, an improved engine and the 76 mm ZiS-5 tank gun. The **KV-1S **is a lighter variant of the KV-1C with higher speed, but thinner armor. The **KV-85** is a KV-1S with the 85mm D-5T cannon.

Some of the oldest tanks used by Gordost, now obsolete. The school now uses the T-44A exclusively over them, without any heed for advantages or disadvantages.

**Gordost (Old Tanks)**

Before Gordost managed to fully modernize their arsenal, they had to rely on older armor. Since their modernization, they stubbornly refuse to rely on these older tanks in favor of their newer pieces, even when doing so would put them at a disadvantage. They are particularly against using vehicles based on the T-34 or KV chassis.

**T-34/85 Model 1945**

Previously the main tank used by Gordost, but recently replaced almost completely by the superior T-44A. They still field some in battles where they need to fill the maximum tank number but lack any other tanks for the role. The particular variant used by Gordost is the Model 1945 with, among others, an electrically powered turret traverse motor.

**SU-100**

The SU-100 is armed with a powerful 100 mm anti-tank gun. The hull of SU-100 had major improvements over the SU-85: the thickness of the front armor was increased, the commander's workplace improved and two ventilator units were installed, instead of only one as in the SU-85.

Despite not being the newest of Gordost vehicles, it is still quite popular with the tank club and is occasionally used in battles.

**SU-122**

The **SU-122** used a 122 mm howitzer on the chassis of a T-34. The first prototype had various faults in the design including insufficient elevation, a flawed shell transfer mechanism, poor ventilation and the fact that the commander had to assist in operating the gun which made him unable to successfully carry out his other duties. It entered service despite these faults. Production SU-122s were based on an improved prototype built after trials were conducted. They incorporated several modifications including slightly less sloped front armor to ease production, modified layout of the fighting compartment, fewer vision slots, and a periscope for the commander.

Overall, the **SU-122** was considered very flawed by Gordost, but one vehicle was acquired for their collection. It is not used, albeit not because of its flaws as much as because it's based on the T-34 chassis.

**SU-152**

It mounts a 152 mm gun-howitzer on the chassis of a KV-1S heavy tank. It became rapidly obsolete as Gordost prefers using the ISU-152, an improved version with a IS chassis. Essentially, it is still useful and is brought out if necessary, despite the schools hate for everything not with a IS chassis.

**Gordost's Pride**

Gordost's newest purchases, these tanks are part of the modern arsenal that the school had been building for a while. They are very close to being able to rely exclusively on them, but so far, they have yet to reach 20 vehicles in this category.

**T-44A**

Third generation prototype and the production model of the T-44. Superior to the T-34 in every way. Does not have a hull machine gun, instead uses the free space for ammo and fuel. Has a crew of 4. This is the main tank used by Gordost.

**ISU-152**

A monster of an armor vehicle, the ISU-152 serves as Gordost's heavy hitter tank destroyer armed with the 152.4 mm ML-20S gun-howitzer. Though it was not designed for the role, the vehicle has the nickname Zveroboy ("beast killer") for its rare ability to reliably kill even the best protected fighting vehicles. The sheer weight of the 152.4 mm shells results in an extremely low rate of fire, only one to three rounds per minute, and lower long range accuracy compared to high-velocity tank antitank guns. However, the massive blast effect from the heavy high-explosive warhead is capable of blowing the turret completely off a Tiger tank. A direct hit usually destroys or damages the target's tracks and suspension, immobilizing it.

Later, Gordost upgraded their ISU-152 to the **ISU-152BM**, sometimes referred to as ISU-152BM-1 or ISU-152-1, with a 152.4 mm BL-8 long barrel gun. This actually decreased the efficiency, just as it did historically. One week later, they upgraded it again with the 152.4 mm BL-10 to the **ISU-152-2**, but just as the ISU-152BM, the vehicle was unsatisfactory. Ultimately, Gordost downgraded the vehicle back to its stock 152.4 mm ML-20S gun-howitzer and used it so ever since.

**ISU-122(S)**

The stock **ISU-122** was only different to the ISU-152 in armament, with a A-19S 122 mm gun.

The **ISU-122S **is also known as the ISU-122-2 and ISU-122 model 1944. Gordost upgraded their stock ISU-122 as quickly as they could with the new 122mm D-25S gun. Knowing they'll eventually have to face KMM's King Tiger, Gordost considered further upgrading their ISU-122s to ISU-122BMs for the firepower of the 122mm BL-7/BL-9 guns, but no decision has been reached yet. In combat, this vehicle is used to complement Gordost's ISU-152.

**SU-100Y**

A Soviet prototype SPG, developed from the prototype T-100 tank. With a 130 mm B-13 naval gun, it can destroy anything. It is rarely used in combat by Gordoest in favor of the ISU-152, serving more as a museum spectacle piece. In less serious matches, it may be used instead of the ISU-152, but if two heavy guns are needed, it is used alongside it. In practice, it's very easy to kill due to its large profile and is only used to add bragging rights because it's armed with a naval gun.

**T-150**

Experimental tank based on KV-1. One prototype was constructed in 1941 and was destroyed defending Leningrad. Rarely used in actual combat, this tank is just another Gordost museum spectacle piece, to add some bragging right by owning a very rare prototype tank. During serious matches, it gets replaced by more capable tanks, although it is still preferred over the T-34/85. An old tank, the only reason it's listed as Gordost's Pride and actually used is because it is very rare.

**IS-2m**

1944 improvement of the IS-2 with D25-T 122 mm gun, faster-loading drop breech, new fire control and improved simpler hull front. Gordost generally uses three of these in most matches to provided extra firepower, although when decide to focus on speed, they instead bring more mediums.

**IS-3/IS-4**

The **IS-3** has an improved armor layout and a semi-hemispherical cast turret that improved protection but diminished the working headroom and limited the maximum depression of the main gun. Compared to the IS-2, the IS-3 was shorter, more cramped, but with better angles and a smaller silhouette, making it harder to knock out.

On the other side, the IS-3 was plagued by defaults and never-fixed issues left from an antiquated and troublesome transmission inherited from the KV-1, new issues caused by the adoption of an ill-adapted heavy gun (with too little ammo carried and a very low rate of fire). Assembly too was problematic, the rear hull side elements welded around the engine compartment having tendencies to crack open. Despite being slightly lighter and faster than the Centurion, it was less mobile. It also had a serious deficiency in vision devices on board. Most crew members have just a single periscope or vision block to look through when buttoned up. The IS-2's commander cupola feature was deleted from later IS tanks.

The **IS-4 **has a lengthened hull, with an extra set of road wheels added and an improved engine. Both hull and turret armor were increased, but it has disappointing speed and mobility.

On the other side, the IS-4 was conceived as a less advanced, therefore cheaper version of the IS-3, but differed considerably on several points. It was delayed, then later produced, and seen as an overall less successful design. It was sent to a less important theatre of operation for its entire cold war service duration, and was largely eclipsed by the IS-3.

Gordost refrains from fielding these tanks unless truly necessary out of a sense of fair-play and pride.

**Nochnye Vedmy**

**BT-5**

Slightly weaker than the BT-7s, but also cheaper, the Witches used BT-5s to complement their BT-7 arsenal until they managed to buy enough BT-7s to rely exclusively on them.

**BT-7M (BT-8)**

The last of the BT series of Soviet cavalry tanks, the BT-8 is lightly armored, but reasonably well-armed and with much better mobility than other tank designs. The diesel engines showed much-reduced fuel costs, great for Vedmy's low budget. Unfortunately, Vedmy was unable to field anything more expensive than the BT-8. They stood no chance in combat against their brother club, although they proved to be challenging opponents in most tournaments they took part in.

**BT-7A**

Artillery support version of the BT-7 with a 76.2 mm howitzer and 7.62mm DT machine gun on the turret rear. Vedmy bought it thinking it had a superior gun, but its usefulness against enemy tanks is questionable at best. Armor penetration of the howitzer is actually lower than that of the 45mm.

**T-40**

An amphibious light tank used by the Witches for surprise attacks and scouting.

The **T-40** was an improvement over its predecessors, the T-37 and T-38 in several respects, with welded, conical turret shape improved protection, although the armor was still very thin. Armament was a 12.7mm DShK heavy machine gun, a much more potent weapon than the 7.62mm DT machine gun mounted on the T-38. Water propulsion was via a small propeller mounted at the rear of the hull. The propeller was set into an indent in the hull rear, and was thus better protected than the exposed propeller of the T-38.

The Witches tried to improve the weak combat value of the T-40 by mounting better guns. They modified the hull and first fit a 20 mm TNSh and later a 23 mm PT-23TB. The cannon of this improved T-40 has enough firepower to penetrate the sides of the Panzer III and IV, but still quite weak by tank standards.

Despite being highly ineffective in combat, it was still used in low numbers for scouting on maps with water terrain.

**T-60/T-70M/T-80**

Vedmy used cheap T-60, T-70 and T-80 tanks to support their complement of BTs. The T-60 scout tank was a light tank designed to replace the obsolete T-38 amphibious scout. The Witches' T-60s are armed with the 37 mm ZiS-19. The T-70 was a light, two man vehicle. The T-80 was a more advanced version of the T-70 with a two-man turret. Both the T-70 and the T-80 are armed with 45 mm guns. While more armored than the Witches' BTs, this series were also slower.

* * *

**ROOSEVELT**

**M22 Locust**

The Light Tank (Airborne) M22 or Locust is an American-designed airmobile light tank which was produced during World War II. Roosevelt uses it as a rapid scout tank, the fastest in its arsenal, but it's **37mm M6 Gun** is all but useless against most armor.

**M24 Chaffe**

The Light Tank M24 is an American light tank used during the latter part of World War II. In British service it was given the service name Chaffee, after the United States Army General Adna R. Chaffee, Jr., who helped develop the use of tanks in the United States armed forces. Its **75mm M6 Gun** is superior to the Locust's, but the tank is slower than the M22.

**M26 Pershing**

Roosevelt's heavy hitter, the school fields several variants.

The **T26E3/M26** is the main production model. The school has **5x **of these.

The **T26E4** is the "Super Pershing", armed with the **90mm high-velocity gun**. It mounts either the **T15E1** one-piece ammunition gun or the **T15E2** two-piece ammunition gun. The **E2** is superior to the **E1** both in ballistics and in ammunition handling, with the one-piece ammunition proving to be difficult to load. The school has **3x T15E2 **armed Super Pershings and **1x T15E1 **armed Super Pershing, but the latter is mostly for bragging rights.

The **T26E5 **is an up-armored T26E3. The school has **3x **of these.

**T28 Super Heavy Tank**

The T28 Super Heavy Tank was an American heavily armored tank self-propelled gun designed for the United States Army during World War II. The 100-ton vehicle was initially designated a heavy tank, it was re-designated as the **105 mm Gun** Motor Carriage T95 in 1945, and then renamed in 1946 as the Super Heavy Tank T28.

Roosevelt prefers turreted vehicles and generally doesn't field the T28, keeping it more for bragging rights.

**M4 Sherman**

The Medium Tank, M4 is the backbone of Roosevelt's Shensha-dou Club, reliable and mobile. The school fields the most advanced variants.

The **M4A3E2 Assault Tank** "Jumbo" is a heavily armored Sherman that could shrug off hits from 88s at close range. Roosevelt's Jumbos are armed with 76 mm guns. Because it is one of the slowest tanks in their arsenal, slower, less armored and with a worse gun than the Pershing, it is generally used as a heavy tanks against weaker schools.

The **M4A3E8/M4A3(76)W HVSS** "Easy Eight" is the most advanced version of the Sherman deployed by the Americans during World War 2. This tank is the backbone of Roosevelt's force, never missing from any match.

**T29/T30/T32/T34 Heavy Tanks**

The **T29** was based upon a lengthened version of the T26E3 hull and featured heavier armor, an uprated engine, more comfortable controls for the driver, and a massive new turret incorporating the high velocity **105 mm gun**. Its maximum armor thickness was 279 mm compared to 180 mm on the German Tiger II while its 105 mm gun was 7.06 m long compared to the 6.29 m of the Tiger II's 88 mm. The **T29E1** was two inches longer on account of a different engine, the AV-1710-E32, being installed. The **T29E2** had the same engine as a regular T29, but mounted the T5 turret that had a different traverse, gun elevation and range finding system. Additionally instead of the T5E1 105mm gun, it was given the T5E2 105mm gun that had fewer recoil cylinders. The new gun also required a new mount, the T123E2. The **T29E3 **had the T5E1 gun but it was mounted with a new stereoscopic range finding system and fire control system but wasn't very successful. The school has **1x T29E2**.

The **T30** was virtually identical but mounted a 155mm L/40 T7 gun and featured a more powerful engine and an extra crew member to help load the gun. The 155mm gun fired two-piece (shell and charge) ammunition. The gun could only be loaded at limited elevations. The weight of the T30 shell was 43 kg and the charge 18 kg, a total of 61 kg for the whole round, which made it difficult to handle and gave it a rate of fire of only 2 RPM when manually loaded. The **T30E1** had the 155mm L/40 T7E1 gun with an automatic rammer added to help load the ammunition. The school has **1x T30E1**.

The **T34** mounted a 120mm gun. This gun could achieve a maximum rate of fire of 5 RMP with two loaders. With solid shot weighing 50 pounds, it had a muzzle velocity of 3150 feet per second. Roosevelt also used the lightweight HVAP round with a muzzle velocity of 4100 feet per second that was in development. In order to balance out the longer and heavier cannon, an additional 4 inches of armor was welded on the rear of the turret bustle. The school has **1x** of these.

The **T32** mounted a 90mm gun. The 90mm was much larger than the Pershing's, and like the Super Pershing which utilized the same experimental 90mm, the counterweight at the back of the turret was enlarged substantially. As well, the tank was so heavy that the M26 chassis had to be expanded and an extra road wheel was added for a total of 7 per track. The **T32E1** variant removed weak spots in the frontal armor including a hull mounted machine gun. The school has **1x T32E1**.


	23. United Kingdom of Eton and Gloriana

"I've brought the recruits list," Churchill said. He stood across from Wellington's desk, holding some papers.

As Wellington looked up, the boy adjusted his glasses. For a second, light reflected into his eyes. He frowned. "Put them on the table." He got up from his chair and approached Churchill. "Let's see…"

"You know, I've been thinking..." Churchill said. "We're like a constitutional monarchy. Richard's the king, Darjeeling's the queen and you're the prime minister."

"I'm no politician, Churchill," said Wellington. "Even if we're both namesakes of prime ministers, neither of us come close." He kept skimming the list as he spoke. "I am a mere Field Marshal. Richard's the prime minister and Darjeeling's the queen." Wellington chuckled at the thought of a Prime Minister being in a relationship with the Queen before returning his attention to the papers.

"The United Kingdom of Gloriana and Eton?" Churchill pondered.

Wellington looked up for a moment. "Sounds ridiculous."

"What is it with these training schedules? We barely have time for tea!" Darjeeling burst into the room with Assam in tow. Normally, it was Pekoe who followed Darjeeling around, but whenever she had to deal with Wellington, she brought Assam. The new semester had begun and the new training program was in full effect. The boys fell in line, but the girls were much more vocal. It was Darjeeling's job as their previous captain to take care of them. As usual, this brought her in conflict with Wellington.

"The Federation might have postponed the match with Roosevelt, but we can't let our guard down." Wellington kept reading some documents, not bothering to look at his visitors. "We need to make good use of the time we've gained."

"But what about the tea?" Darjeeling insisted.

"You can drink your tea inside the tanks. You always praised yourselves with that," retorted Wellington.

"He has a point," said Assam.

"Touché…" admitted Darjeeling. "Regardless…" Wellington looked up from his documents. Churchill was gone – probably sneaked out of the room while he wasn't paying attention. The boy wasn't too comfortable around girls, less so than Wellington himself had been at first. Wellington frowned, but the sight of Assam softened him up. He returned his attention to the papers. Darjeeling opened her mouth to speak, but Wellington stopped her without even looking.

"And before you ask, yes, I have finally watched your matches." The displeasure in his voice vanished instantly. He looked up at Darjeeling. "By God, your crews are magnificent!" he said, gesturing with his hand. "The mobility you maintain while maneuvering in formation… Truly marvelous." The girls simply nodded her head as the boy praised her crews. "You girls are, mayhap, better trained than even Kuromorimine, and they take their training seriously." Wellington, as if having decided by himself that the conversation was over, focused once more on his work. His mood reverted as swiftly as it had changed in the first place.

"So?" Darjeeling asked.

"What?"

"The tea!"

"Very well..." the boy sighed. "The girls can have a tea break after five. They _are_ better than us, after all…"

"Ah, I'm glad we have reached an agreement," said Darjeeling. "Then I shall be on my way. Ta-ta."

Darjeeling left the room as swiftly as she arrived, but Assam didn't budge. A bit annoyed that he couldn't continue his work, Wellington looked up again. However, the sight of the girl's voluminous blonde hair instantly neutralized whatever negative feelings he had. "She's err… picking more English expressions by the day…" Alone with her in the room, he was a bit uneasy. "How can I be of service, milady?"

The girl took a deep breath. The room was a veritable mess. Wellington insisted he wouldn't leave his office, that whoever wanted to see him should come there, but he didn't bother moving any of the numerous files and folders littering his desk.

"Are you well?" the girl asked. Wellington had not left his office for days. Since the Gordost match, he was constantly busy with something. He even left half through the welcoming party for the Gloriana girls. It was impossible not to notice the bags he had under his eyes. Whatever it was he was doing in his office was taking off his sleep hours, and black tea could only do help so much.

"Yes… thank you." The boy avoided her gaze.

"I'm– We're worried about you!" the girl said. She made a step towards him and accidently knocked some papers off the table. She rushed to pick them up. Wellington did as well. As they both reached for the papers simultaneously, their hands touched. They looked at each other only to notice their faces were mere centimeters away. The girl blushed, but Wellington face was instead blue. Then Assam noticed that the papers were filled with sketches and analyses of Roosevelt's previous matches.

"You've been spending all these nights researching Roosevelt?" Assam asked, a combination of surprise and concern on her face.

"Yes… know your enemy and know thyself. Last time I failed at such a basic principle." Wellington sighed.

"But you've brought Eton victory."

"It was too close." Wellington rubbed his forehead. "Gordost acted rashly, they made numerous mistakes… and yet, by skill alone, they almost won. Our spies made sure Peter underestimated us. Without that, God knows we would have stood no chance." The boy nervously rearranged some of the papers on his desk to the point where a tiny bit of its wood became visible, but most of it was still covered in pages. He preferred reading hard copies. Burning the midnight oil was stressful as it was without torturing his eyes in a computer display.

"There's no changing your mind, is there?" Assam said. She kept looking with concern at Wellington, and the boy kept avoiding her gaze.

"Richard kisses the babies, I do the thinking. It's my job."

"Then I'll help as much as I can," Assam declared. "I'll make you some tea. It's the least I can do."

Wellington sighed. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Assam left the room. Finally able to focus on his work, Wellington's attention returned to his papers. Roosevelt was a tough nut to crack. There was only so much he could do to improve Eton's chances. The best place to start was the skill of the crews. Training was already underway, and he had no spies in the enemy school to rely on, so all he could do was familiarize himself with their tactics and behavior. For several days all he did was go through their matches with other schools.

"Excuse me," Monty entered the room.

"Oh, for God's sake, now what?" Wellington's concentration was broken again.

"Oh, gosh, relax. I'm here to give you a hand. Richard told me you were in trouble."

"Richard?" Wellington had a sudden realization. Assam called Darjeeling, Darjeeling told Richard and Richard sent his cousin to lend a hand. "Of course…" He didn't ask Monty to help because he knew he was too lazy and didn't expected Richard to be able to convince him. He was wrong. Perhaps asking for help wasn't such a bad idea. "Thank you, Assam," Wellington said to himself. "Any help is appreciated," he said to Monty. "Just don't start moaning about how sleepy you are."

"I'm a night owl. I can help you way past midnight. Just don't expect me to wake up in the morning."

Assam entered the room with a tea trey in her hand. "Earl Grey?"

"Thank you, Assam... for everything…" Wellington nodded his head. The girl blushed a little, but smiled. She poured hot tea into two cups and offered them to the boys. "I'll be back with biscuits," she said then left the room as promptly as she entered.

"So, what do you need me to do?" asked Monty.

"For starters, you can learn Roosevelt's tank specifications by heart." Wellington pushed some papers towards his teammate.

"Great," moaned Monty. "Sounds fun."

"That's what I've been doing the last week. We need everyone to know exactly where to aim to penetrate their armor."

"The 17 pounder is a monster, and soon our gunners will be able to exploit the range advantage it give us. We don't need to aim."

"Oh, but we do. Do you know how thick the armor on the Pershing and Ts is?"

"No…" Monty admitted.

"Very thick. Not even a 17 pounder APCBC can penetrate them frontally. We can shoot the turret, but the hull of the M26 can only be pierced with those bloody inaccurate APDS shots, and their armor only gets thicker on the heavies."

"You're kidding me…" Monty sighed. "Give me those files! Unlike you I'll memorize them in a day."

"While I must admit that you are a much better grind than I am, you should know that I did not only memorize the data, but also wrote a visual guide on where to shoot." Wellington searched the piles of paper on his desk and pulled out a small dossier. "Here, now you'll memorize the data in a couple of hours."

The door opened again and Assam walked in with a plate full of biscuits. "Anything else?" she asked. The girl had a bright smile on her face. She didn't seem to mind she was doing a maid's job. Wellington felt flattered that the girl was so happy to help him in any way she could.

"One more thing, please. Could you get Sharpe?" Wellington asked.

"Of course."

"I am forever in your debt."

* * *

"First match, Roosevelt beats Chi-Ha-Tan Academy, Japanese themed. Not a big surprise," said Wellington. Monty nodded. "Do you have anything to add, Sharpe?" The boy turned to his gunner. "Richard insisted you know a lot about this academy."

"That's why I'm here, forgot?" Sharpe got up from the sofa and moved towards Wellington's desk. "I was starting to think you'd never ask. I watched their match a couple of times…"

"Why?" asked Monty.

"No… err… particular reason…" Sharpe was met with suspicious looks from his teammates. "Do you want to know or not?"

"Go ahead," Wellington said.

"The school recently got a new captain," Sharpe started to explain. "Everything changed since she took command. They call her _The Shogun_. She's big on _Sengoku Jidai _themes, especially those related to the _Shimazu_. She's turned the whole Sensha-dou Club around. Put up quite a fight, but they just didn't have the arsenal to overpower Roosevelt."

"That doesn't help us much…" Monty mumbled.

"It does," Wellington said. "If what Sharpe says is right, we can't beat Roosevelt through tactics alone. We are better equipped than Chi-Ha-Tan, but if Roosevelt is even stronger than Gordost…" Wellington didn't finish his sentence.

"What about the Finns?" Monty asked. "They faced Roosevelt second, right?"

"They've put up a decent fight," said Sharpe. "Hid and ambushed the yanks at every turn – my kind of war – but just like the Japs, they lacked the firepower to finish the job." Sharpe sighed and jumped in an armchair. "Their first tournament battle, where they faced the Poles, was a lot tighter. Bonple only lost because the weather was in Jatkosota's favor. Did you see their defense? They don't call their captain Władysław Raginis for nothing."

"A modern Leonidas, eh?" Wellington mumbled. "But the Poles would have stood an even worse chance against Roosevelt. No defense can stand against the heavy tanks they field. The Finnish ambushes were a better choice."

"I hear the Finns have a gunner to rival even you," Monty said.

"The White Death? Simo Häyhä's namesake? That's merely propaganda," Sharpe shrugged. "He's got nothing on me. Anyone can hit a target in the middle of an open field at 300 meters from a concealed position."

"Tell that to more than half the girl gunners in Japan," retorted Wellington.

"Any decent gunner…" Sharpe corrected himself.

"The lesson here is that ambushes are our best shot. Hopefully, the 17 pounders will make the difference," Wellington said.

"I hope so too. Wouldn't want to get our asses kicked by those yanks. I pity the Poles and the Finns. I would have preferred facing them," Sharpe muttered.

"You seem to be very interested in these schools…" noticed Monty.

"It's my east European heritage," said Sharpe. "I might not appreciate an English rose, but at least I can help you with this, can't I?"

"You're going to haunt me with that for the rest of my life, aren't you?" Wellington asked.

"Yes."

* * *

The clock struck three hours past midnight. Monty was sleeping in an awkward position in the armchair. Sharpe had vanished not long after the analysis of the Chi-Ha-Tan versus Roosevelt match was finished. But for the tick of the clock, a deafening silence permeated the room. At the desk, Wellington's lamp still shone bright. The boy stared at the myriad of papers covering the table.

A soft knock on the door – Assam entered the room. "You're still awake?" Wellington asked. He had a look of concern above the bags under his eyes. "You need to sleep seven hours minimum."

"Hm. Speak for yourself." Assam sat on the sofa and looked away, pretending to be angry. Wellington sighed.

"Just because I suffer, you don't have to suffer too," Wellington said. He instantly regretted his words.

The girl turned her head towards him. She dropped her indignant façade, switched from angry to sad in a second. "You're suffering?" she asked.

"No… it's not like that… I need to do this…" Wellington tried to find a way out, but there was none. Assam jumped from the sofa and leaned on the table, piercing him with a concerned stare.

"You need to rest!" the girl exclaimed. Exhausted, Wellington just let his head drop on the desk. Arguing with her was more tiring than working.

"I need to get this done…" the boy sighed. "But I have to agree… I need to rest as well… What do you propose?" he asked.

Assam pondered for a few seconds. She moved her weight from one arm to the other. Wellington looked up at her. At three and a half in the morning, she looked surprising well. He was certain his eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and his face purple, but Assam's complexion was completely unchanged. She looked like she had just woken up from a nice nap.

"Close your eyes for fifteen minutes!" Assam finally came up with a solution. "It should be enough to rest your mind for a while, and you'll still have time to work!"

Wellington rubbed his forehead. "That might actually work," he said. The girl moved from the desk back to the sofa and sat in it. Wellington looked at her confused.

"Here, you can sleep in my lap," Assam said. "It will be more relaxing."

Wellington pondered the implications. The more he hesitated the more intense the blush in the girls cheeks became. "Sure…" he finally decided. "Just make sure you wake me up."

* * *

The door to Wellington's office opened slowly, without a squeak. Wellington must have had it oiled. Richard and Darjeeling peeked inside. The light of dawn shyly pierced the window glass, illuminating the room. In an armchair, Monty slept peacefully, with a warm smile on his face, like a kitten dozing under the sun. Then the two looked right. Assam and Wellington lay on the couch.

"Blimey, they're adorable –" cried Darjeeling.

"Shhh! You'll wake them up." Richard covered her mouth.

The two slipped into the room. Wellington slept quietly with his head rested in Assam's lap. His hair was messy, his coat was wrinkled, but he looked more peaceful than Richard had ever seen him before. Assam was sitting upright, her head rested on the sofa's backrest, slightly tilted to the right. A faint smile on her, she had one hand in Wellington's hair.

"I wish to try that as well," Darjeeling said, this time quiet enough as to not wake up anyone.

"Beg your pardon?" Richard looked at her confused.

The girl sat on the second sofa in the room and tapped her lap. "Here. Lay down!"

"Oh…" Richard pondered for a moment. "Okay!"

The chirp of birds tickled Wellington's ears. A faint breeze blew through his hair and caressed his face. He slowly woke up. He felt thoroughly refreshed – he had slept like a baby – but he also felt that he had forgotten something. As he opened his eyes, the image of a sleeping Assam blessed his sight. He smiled.

"What time is it?" he mumbled to himself.

"Eleven o'clock," a voice from beyond his field of vision said.

"Thank you, Richard…" the boy answered, then closed his eyes again. A few more seconds passed. Wellington almost fell asleep again, but then sudden realization washed over him. He opened his eyes wide and sat up. Assam moved a bit, but remained asleep. On the other side of the room, Richard's head lay in Darjeeling's lap.

"Good morning," Darjeeling said.

"I overslept," Wellington mumbled. He looked around as he regained his focus, trying to snap out of his sleep inertia. He sighed.

"Good morning…" Assam yawned, rubbed her eyes and looked around. "Oh my! I forgot to wake you up!" the girl cried. Wellington turned around to look at her. "It's all my fault…" her voice trembled.

"No, no, no! It's okay!" Wellington said. "It was good for me!"

"I need to make it up to you," Assam said.

"No, no, no! You already have!"

"What's with the commotion?" Monty grumbled.

"They're so cute," Darjeeling said.

"Everyone calm down!" Richard cried. He had gotten up and was standing in the middle of the room with his arms opened. "I have good news! The training reports finally came in."


	24. Results

Wellington sat at an improvised table on top of a hill, like the commanders of old. He looked at the lads Eton who drover their tanks below. The noise of engines covered the sound of the wind blowing through his hair. To his right, Richard stood upright, his lips curled in a bright smile. To his left, Monty was hunched into another chair, his eyes barely open.

"All crews saw an increase in accuracy of around 100 percent… mobility of around… 150 percent and… reload speed of around 75 percent…" mumbled Monty. He was trying to stay awake, but every couple of words, he would nod off. He had gathered the data and using his math skills wrote a report on how much everyone had improved. The numbers were promising.

"That's a lot," said Richard.

"Not really," explained Monty. "We still have an overall accuracy of only 60 percent, during training, which I think translates realistically to around 50 percent in combat, if we're lucky…"

"That's not a lot…" said Richard.

"But you have to take into consideration that even Gordost, who is this for a far longer time than us, has an accuracy of 55 percent in combat."

"So it is a lot," Richard concluded.

On the grass below the hill, a troop of Crusaders performed maneuvers. The arduous work the boys did under the guidance of Gloriana's drivers had paid off. The improvement was obvious. Every tank turned while maintaining formation, not as flawless as Gloriana, but superb compared to the disastrous traffic jam that occurred during the Kuromorimine match. Into the distance, the sound of 17 pounders echoed like a thunderous metronome. Patton had been training the gunners in his Firefly squadron all morning. Less than a hundred meters to the left of the hill, Castus supervised the loaders like a drill sergeant. Same as everyone else, they had practiced all morning, repeatedly loading shells into makeshift breeches until their hands went numb.

Richard hoped that the sight of fellow students working hard to overcome their limits would make Wellington content, but he couldn't get a read on his friend. Wellington just sat and stared quietly downhill. Richard, however, had complete confidence in his boys. The numbers didn't lie. The crews of Eton were ready. They would not disappoint. It was up to their glorious strategist to tip the balance of battle against Roosevelt.

After sitting in silence for the whole time, Wellington finally stood up. Richard and Monty looked at him. He took a step forward. "Our army is the scum of the earth, the merest scum of the earth..." he said. "But what fine fellows we have made of them."


	25. Poker Face

The sea was restless. A mighty storm made the air rumble. The massive USS Enterprise cut through tall waves like a ten kilometer long knife. Thunder echoed in the distance, but the occasional flash of lighting would hit the rods on the ship, lighting the dark sky.

Wind whistled through the crack in the door as it opened and closed. A student entered the room. As big as a gorilla, he could barely be called a boy, but he was not a man either. He looked towards the center of the room where three more boys were sitting at a round table. In front of the window, on the other side of the room, a fifth lad stared outside as the rain bombarded the glass like machinegun fire.

"Howdy, Billy," said one of the boys at the table. He looked plain with the exception of a huge smile on his face and a strange cowboy hat on his head. "Whatcha doin'? You 'ere tuh play?"

"Yeah," the large boy answered. "Nothing better to do with this weather."

"It was so dry the trees were bribin' the dogs. A toad choker is welcome now and then," the first boy said, adjusting his hat.

"Yeah, whatever you say, Cowboy."

"Billy Bull! Hehe, we've been waiting for you, man!" another boy said. "Siddown, Bulldog! Let's get this party started!" Bill sat at the table. He could barely fit in the chair, a problem he often encountered since his growth spurt. "Shuffle the cards, Ace!" the second boy ordered, a grin on his face, but Ace didn't listen. He stood as if paralyzed, staring into his cards, saying nothing – the perfect poker face.

"Whoa, slow down, Harbinger," Cowboy interrupted. "This ain't my first rodeo! The round ain't over and we all know I'm gonna win. Pay up first!"

"Aw, man! No fair!" Harbinger complained.

"We all know you're tighter than bark on a tree, but it's time to paint your butt white and run with the antelope."

"Man, speak American, not that strange Texan you keep spitting!" Harbinger threw his card on the table – a single pair. Still quiet, the Ace showed his hand too. Full house – three kings and two queens. "Damn, Ace! Not bad!" Harbinger cried. "You lost, Cowboy!"

"Just because a chicken has wings doesn't mean it can fly," Cowboy said. "Y'all got nothin' on me. Ha!" The boy slapped his cards on the table, revealing his hand – four of a kind, a whole four aces. "Who's the ace now?"

Having not said a single thing the whole round, Ace finally burst. "Fuck!" A heavy frown weighted his face. "Piece of shit!" For a good two minutes he cursed, nothing else but foul words leaving his mouth while Cowboy gathered all the chips on the table.

"I'm feeling lucky this time!" Harbinger said. "Cut the cards, Ace!"

"Fuck off, asshole. Cut 'em yourself!" the boy hissed. He lit a cigar. Ace was normally a very quiet guy, so quiet that rumors started spreading about him having pissed off the mafia and gotten his tongue cut off. The truth was that as a chronic smoker and foul mouth, half of the things coming out of him were curses and the other half smoke. Harbinger started shuffling the deck, unfazed by his friend's aggressive talk. Everyone was used to getting that kind of treatment from Ace when he was angry – everyone but their captain. Not even Ace dared curse at him.

"Why didn't you fold with that hand, Harbinger?" Bulldog asked.

"You know his engine's runnin' but ain't nobody driving," said Cowboy and started laughing. Harbinger pouted.

"You hurt my feelings, man!" Harbinger cried. He took a look at his cards. "Alright! Waddaya got?"

"Uh huh. Y'all are big hats with no cattle."

"Top is late," a booming voice echoed through the room. The boy at the window had turned around and was walking towards the table.

"Cap's probably on the phone with that Saunders chick," Harbinger said. "He sure loves flirting with her."

"Wouldn't blame him. Dang that girl's a looker," said Cowboy. "And she's got tongue enough for 10 rows of teeth. Yep, she's sure'nuff a keeper."

"The match with Eton is imminent and Wellington is a dangerous opponent. Top must take it seriously."

"Eh, I've heard about him. He thinks the sun come up just to hear him crow. Calm down, Command." Jack Drake, known as 'Command' to his Sensha-dou comrades was Roosevelt's chief tactician. He had a surprisingly deep voice for a boy his size. He was fairly tall, but scrawny, and didn't inspire much strength, yet his gaze was that of a warrior, focused and intimidating and his voice was booming, like that of a baritone.

"We must be prudent!" Command's voice echoed once more through the room. He turned his back to the table and walked towards the window. "The Federation opened Pandora's Box when they let us in – a mistake on their part. We lost the opportunity to crush their best teams. Eton stole it from us and now they aim for the first place." Command turned towards his teammates. "They had their chance! We'll put an end to this… give them a show of force… and watch them buckle."


	26. Cooking Lessons

"I think it needs a little bit more sugar, darling," Richard suggested. The boy desperately tried to keep a smile on his face. He was surprisingly convincing given how abysmal the concoction Darjeeling had conceived tasted. It looked nothing like compote. It looked more like pitch.

Richard Stanfield had finally decided to confront Darjeeling's ability to cook, or lack thereof. Several attempts were made, but the boy ultimately realized that the hand of a professional was needed. Enter Jacques Laurent, Jack, the Stanfield family chef and one of the best in Europe – self-proclaimed. Regardless of the validity of his claims, Jack was a spectacular cook and, no matter how much of his craft he had taught Richard, sublimely better suited to teach Darjeeling. Unfortunately, things didn't go as smoothly as Richard had originally planned.

"Jesus Christ! This dish has so much oil, the US want to invade!" Jack cried. He was very harsh, many times more than he had been with Richard, but Darjeeling was a different kind of student. Even salads appeared to be beyond her ability to create. But she would not give up. Perseverance was in her blood.

"A tad less salt, sweetheart." Richard put the fork back in the salad platter. Darjeeling's second attempt at food was less likely to turn into poison, but just as likely to be uneatable. Compared to his chef, Richard was like honey. He had to accept Jack's conditions – the man would not have it any other way – but the young Stanfield wasn't exactly happy with them. He didn't very much enjoy how harsh the chef was with Darjeeling, but he trusted him implicitly. Jack was not just an ordinary servant for the Stanfield household, he was a friend.

"Are you trying to reenact the Chernobyl disaster?!" Jack yelled. "Don't put ketchup on it!" Darjeeling's lack of common sense at cooking was surprising, especially given she didn't seem to lack it in any other domain. It was almost comedic, as if taken from a sitcom.

"Don't put tea in it, Darjeeling!" Richard grabbed her hand, saving the soup from certain destruction.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Darjeeling said. Her face betrayed nothing. She seemed as bright and happy as always, completely unaffected by constant failure and the harsh words thrown at her. Richard couldn't read anything but pure tenacity in her demeanor.

"My God… it looks like you dropped napalm on it," Jack said.

"Err… let's take a break," suggested Richard.

"Very well," said Darjeeling. "Then I'm off to take a quick shower." The girl left the kitchen, leaving the two lads to contemplate on their failure.

"I'm starting to think it's a lost cause," Richard said. He wiped the sweat off his brow. The kitchen was brimming with heat.

"What? Don't stop now! She's actually improving," said Jack.

"Really?" At a glance, the man didn't seem to lie. He had no reason to. "I didn't notice. Guess that's why you're the chef and I'm not." Richard chuckled.

"Don't put yourself down, you're a decent chef."

"You sure you want to continue?" Richard stood up. Jack remained seated at the table. The smell of food permeated the room.

"Hey, when else will I get to pretend I'm Gordon Ramsey?"

* * *

"OK, let's have a taste," said Richard. The boy slowly brought the spoon to his lips, not very eager to taste it, but trying to look confident. Darjeeling gazed at him, wide-eyed with enthusiasm, awaiting his conclusion. He munched on the omelet for half a second. His expression was blank… then a smile crept on his face.

"This is actually pretty good!" Richard exclaimed. "You've done it, dear!"

"Oh, jolly day!" Darjeeling said. "You know the saying: if at first you don't succeed, try and try again." The girl's smile had grown even warmer.

Jack took a spoonful as well. His aggressive mask was instantly off. His job was complete. "Congratulations, my girl. You've outdone yourself," he said. His tone was sweet, a shocking contrast to his previous bitterness. The unending frown on Jack's face was gone, replaced by a smile that suited him much better.

"With no little help from you. Thank you kindly," said Darjeeling, proud of her accomplishments. "Now I'll cook for Richard, not the other way around."

"But I like cooking," said Richard.

"No buts!" Darjeeling insisted. "Can't wait to tell the girls."

"We've pacified the lethal chef," Jack said to himself.


	27. Preparations

_AN: Finally managed to strap the chunks I've been writing together to form a longer, coherent, main plot, chapter. I tried to keep cranking one chapter per week, but I could only publish a filler chapter last week. Sorry for the delay._

* * *

Patton ran through the hallways, a great enthusiasm radiating from his figure. Every corner he would grab the wall to ease the turn. On the way, he almost crashed into Monty, who was shambling towards Wellington's office as well. A quick "sorry", he kept running and as soon as he reached his destination he burst through the door without a second thought.

"Good afternoon," Wellington said. Patton didn't respond. Breathing heavily, he gestured with his hand, a request for pause. After finally catching his breath, Patton stood upright and saluted.

"I heard you got a job for me!" the boy cried. "I get to infiltrate Roosevelt Yukari-chan-style?!"

* * *

"Are you sure this is safe?" asked Darjeeling. "They can't track us?"

"Don't worry," mumbled Monty. "We're hacking a personal computer, not the pentagon." His fingers ran across the laptop's keyboard like those of a pianist. He wrote words only he understood into the console window faster than anyone could read.

Wellington patiently sat in his armchair. Darjeeling was staring with interest at the screen. She shook her head with concern. "I'm not sure about this."

"Richard asked for victory… at any cost," Wellington said calmly. He wasn't sure what her boyfriend had told her. "He couldn't get me an inside girl, so I'll take what I can."

"He-he, not even my cousin can get you one if there aren't any!" Monty chuckled. Roosevelt was a boys-only school, much like Eton.

"What do you mean, victory at any cost? That doesn't sound like Richard at all…" said Darjeeling. So Richard hadn't told her.

"It's complicated," Wellington explained. "Let's just say he didn't quite know what he was asking for. He's an idealist, just like you know him, but some ideals cannot be achieved without soiling your hands."

"I'm not sure I understand…" Darjeeling said. She hadn't asked about inside girls, which meant Richard had told her about their spy network. He didn't seduce them into spying for them, per say, but his charms did play a role. Wellington could only imagine how the conversation with Darjeeling on that topic started, not that Richard would have had a hard time getting out of such a pinch. Wellington, on the other side, cringed at the mere thought of having to go through such a dialogue. Darjeeling sighed, like she seldom did, then return her attention to the laptop. "You wrote this virus, Monty?"

"Of course not. I got it from the internet. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"You can find stuff like this on the net?" Darjeeling asked, bemused by the boy's statement.

Without moving his head, Monty gave the girl a glance, but kept typing. "I have friends, you know."

Every student had taken the same computer courses as Monty, but few showed as much interest. To his friends, the internet was many things – an infinite source of knowledge, from literature to history, a means of entertaining their hobbies and taking part in erudite arguments – but hacking guide it was not. Wellington liked to play strategy games on the net, Richard parleyed with many and diverse people, but Monty had dived into the deeper parts of the web, where hackers and government agents roamed. Wellington knew his ways around a computer much better than Richard did, but compared to them, Monty was a master.

"So that's what you do when normal people sleep," Wellington retorted. "How long will this take?"

"Don't rush an artist." Monty hit a couple of more keys the lifted his hands into the air. "I'm in." Wellington got up from his armchair and approached the laptop. He was calm – too calm. They had just broken into another person's computer, but he didn't even blink. Darjeeling bit her lip. It didn't feel honorable. Was Richard okay with it?

"Where's Richard?" the girl asked.

"On the Enterprise, distracting their attention to buy Patton time," Wellington explained. "Although I'm not sure why he took Sharpe, Castus _and_ Lottie with him…"

"He supports this?" Darjeeling's eyes radiated a mix of concern and disappointment.

"He doesn't have a choice," Wellington said. "I have the final say. There is no place for discussion." The boy's voice showed more confidence than usual. He was adamant. "Sun Tzu holds that the ruler should not interfere in military affairs." Darjeeling sighed, but pursued the subject no further.

Wellington did not speak the whole truth, although given the circumstance it was preferable the girl called him dishonorable rather than Richard. There was always place for discussion, everybody knew that, including Darjeeling, but Wellington's plans were always accepted in the end. The boy wondered whether Gloriana's former captain had read through his ruse. Richard might have sensed it and Darjeeling was his only equal. Ultimately, he abandoned the thought. It was difficult to keep everyone happy. Wellington preferred to crack the minds of his enemies rather than those of his friends.

"Check his network connections," Wellington commanded. Without a word, Monty complied. A few clicks later, his eyes grew wide. "He has a backdoor into each of his subordinates' computers," Wellington muttered. "This leader of Roosevelt is quite the devious fellow."

"You're thinking of doing the same?" Monty retorted.

"Not at all. I have complete trust in my people."

"What a despicable adversary," Darjeeling said. "Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to invade his computer–"

"Darjeeling!" Wellington interrupted. "Could you bring us some tea, please?" Wellington's face didn't betray a single feeling. His expression was completely blank, but he stared intently into the screen.

"Of course," Darjeeling said. "I don't mind." Monty gave Wellington a glance. He realized something was up. As soon as the girl left the room, he turned his head towards his friend. "Yes?"

"Check that email, please," Wellington said, without returning the look. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped the connections he made were incorrect.

"My God…" Monty's jaw dropped.

"Be silent," Wellington ordered. "This could be a coincidence. It's circumstantial at best, but it does warren an investigation. I have some phone calls to make," he said, but didn't move a muscle. He kept staring at the screen. "I doubt Top is such a fool."

Monty gulped. "I hope you're right."

"I hope I'm wrong. Because if he is, we've just made the find of the century."

* * *

"Mr. Stanfield!" Richard had barely set foot on USS Enterprise when Roosevelt's Sensha-dou captain greeted him. "I see you've brought your friends."

"It's good to see you, Mister–"

"Please, call me Top!" the boy interrupted.

"Well, then you may call me Richard as well, Top!" Richard made sure to smile brightly, like he usually did, but his host gave him a bad feeling.

"I heard you're into sports cars and bikes, and even play in a band! You're a man of my taste."

"Yes, I have many and varied interests," Richard said cautiously.

"I've got Lamborghini Gallardo Valentino Balboni in the parking lot!" Top cried, his gaze suddenly focused on his visitor as if he had started a duel.

"Not bad. It won car of the year on Top Gear," said Richard. "Bugatti Veyron Super Sport, World Record Edition. Won car of the decade on Top Gear," he countered.

"Porsche Spyder!"

"Aston Martin One-77."

"Ford Mustang! Buell Lightning Super!" Top suddenly switched to listing bikes, still spitting the words like an A-10 Thunderbolt, but Richard kept up without losing his composure.

"Nakamura Custom."

"Suzuki Hayabusa!"

"Nakamura Firehawk GP Competition."

"MV Agusta F4 R 312! Guitars! Gibson!" Top switched again.

"Ibanez."

"Girls! Redheads, green eyes."

Richard narrowed his eyes. Top's subject changes had become random, but he would indulge his host. "Blonde, blue eyes."

"Ah! Close second! Hands off Kay, though. Got my eyes on her," Top finally ended.

"You already met Darjeeling," Richard said, his guard still up.

Throughout the show off Richard gauged his host's personality. Just like him, Top was very much interested in modern commodities, superficial, as Earl Grey called them, but lacked the traits of a gentleman that redeemed Richard. That didn't stop him from being thoroughly arrogant. He obviously wanted to appear the superior man, although Richard wasn't sure his methods of comparison were adequate. Richard could have easily started listing the instruments he could play, the books he had read and the languages he could speak, but hurting his host's pride was not the best course of action. He had to keep him busy while Patton did his thing. Besides, even if a real friendship was impossible given Top's nature, it didn't mean they couldn't occasionally get along and even have some fun. The thought brought some peace to Richard's distress.

"You haven't introduced your friends," Top said. After the awkwardly long comparison match with Richard during which he had ignored everyone else, the boy finally turned his attention to the rest of his guests. By then Patton had already vanished. The mission was underway.

"Yes…" Richard said. His tone betrayed some reserve. If Earl Grey considered him superficial, what would she think of the boy before him, who was like a high school jock? Fortunately, unlike her, Richard was able to play in both worlds.

"Hello, beautiful!" Top set his eyes on the only girl Richard had brought along. She wore a leather miniskirt, knee-high stockings and short heel shoes, everything in a combination of dark colors: black, purple, red. A metallic chain, something you'd see on a rocker's jeans, was added as an accessory for the skirt, attached to the belt.

"That would be my maid, Charlotte Williams," Richard said. Above the waist, the girl wore more dark colors, enforcing the color scheme so different to a usual monochrome maid outfit, and a black leather jacket over a black and red corset. A lock of her hair was purple... probably an attachment, unless she painted it. "She's also one of my band's vocal leads," Richard added.

"You have a band?!" Top stared at the blond boy with an almost childish curiosity, but after a few moments, his gape turned into a glare. "So do I. Battle of the bands!" the boy challenged.

"Not exactly what I had in mind, but sure," said Richard. He tried to hide it, but a devious grin could be faintly seen on his face. Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

Richard's phone rang. He could barely hear it over the ruckus. He pushed it against his ear, trying to focus out the instruments around him.

"The Sherman with the big '1' on it has a radio for the driver," reported Patton. "You said Top is a driver. I'd say this is his tank."

"Number one? How quaint," Richard said. He expected something as vain from Top. "We need to sabotage it. Did you bring the bleach?"

"Yeah. A great idea. As expected of our glorious strategist."

"He doesn't know about this," Richard said. "This was my idea."

Patton was silent for a moment. "I didn't know you could be this devious, sir," he said surprised. "But what if they start it up before the battle? They'll figure out. Isn't it too early?"

"I'll take care of that. Don't worry. Oh, and not a word to anyone. We don't know if we have spies in our midst, and we wouldn't want them overhear a conversation. Not even Wellington, not even Darjeeling. I trust you, okay?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" It was strange for Richard to ask such a thing, but Patton didn't question. The captain's reasons were his own. "Should I spike other fuel tanks as well?"

"No, just Top's. I can't guarantee they won't train with the others."

"Roger that. Anything else, sir?"

"No, finish your job and get out."

"Sir, yes sir!" Patton ended the call and returned his attention to the hangar. There was no movement in his line of sight. He continued his recon.

He had finished inspecting the Shermans, fifteen in total, all of them "Easy Eights", or the M4A3E8 variant, also called M4A3(76)W HVSS. Patton knew everything about US tanks, a perk that would advantage Eton greatly. Deeper into the hangar he could see five more Shermans. By their sloped frontal armor, the boy deduced they were Jumbos, but they were equipped with 76 not 75mm guns. He hastily sketched down their numbers in his notebook and moved on. It was unlikely they would field them, given the other heavy tanks Roosevelt had in their arsenal, and he couldn't wait to explore the Pershings.

"Top's as full of wind as a corn-eating horse. Can't believe he's holding a battle of the bands with the guys from Eeton," a voice echoed through the hangar. Somebody had just entered. Patton flinched, a cold shiver wend down his spine.

"It is pronounced Eton," another voice boomed. They were very close. Patton didn't have time to hide. They'd notice him jump behind a tank or ducking anywhere. There was only one sensible thing to do.

"Ah, who cares? We're gonna hand their asses anyways– Hey, who's there." The enemy had finally spotted him, but Patton was ready. With a flashlight and a wrench in hand, he greeted relaxed.

"Chill, dudes. I'm just checking the suspension on the Jumbos. You know how trippy they are."

"Top put another freshman on it? I keep telling him it will alienate them. What did you do?" one of the boys asked; the one with the booming voice.

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me," Patton said.

The boy wasn't so easily convinced. He glared suspiciously at the potential intruder. "I don't recall seeing you around here. Who are you?"

Patton gulped, but he got an idea. The two guys in front of him looked like second years. "You're right, I'm a freshman. Tried asking everyone to call me Sergeant Crapgame, but I was too shy."

"Well, yippie ki-yay! I love Kelly's Heroes!" the first boy suddenly cried.

"Not now, Cowboy!" the other boy interrupted. "Go get your hat. We have other things to do."

"Aight, Command. I'll be back right quick." The boy with the strange accent ran to the other side of the hangar and jumped into a T30. Patton could barely hold back his glee. He couldn't wait to inspect the heavy tanks.

"You have a good attitude," said Command. He didn't look at Patton. His eyes were following his comrade, as if he was afraid he'd try to run away. "Don't let that enthusiasm die."

"Yes, sir!" Patton cried. The boy with the deep voice waited patiently. His friend came back with a large cowboy hat and a grin on his face, then the two students left the hangar.

"Don't let Top's attitude get to you," Command's voiced boomed one last time. "He's not as bad once you get to know him." The hangar door closed behind him. Patton felt that the boy was lying. That captain of Roosevelt must have had quite a controversial reputation if the Sensha-dou's Club members had to defend him so. It was strange. If he recalled correctly, Top was very popular in the school. He must have been an unusual man indeed.

After a few moments of silence, after he was finally certain nobody would interrupt him again, Patton unleashed his enthusiasm and ran merrily to the heavy tanks in the hangar. He would explore every inch of them, he would let nothing undocumented. It would be a long evening, but he would have the most fun he had had in years.


	28. Ups and downs

"Ah, you're finally here!"

Richard closed the door behind him and walked towards Wellington's desk. "Yes, it was a fun day!" he said, smiling.

"Glad to hear it," Wellington said, unimpressed by his friend's enthusiasm. He was sent to gather intel, not have fun. "So what happ–" he stopped mid-sentence. Something had caught his eye. "Is that blood?" A napkin with spots of bright red stuck out of Richard's pocket.

"Yeah, I have to get that washed…" Richard answered.

Wellington stared at him confused and concerned, but his friend kept his innocent smile on, as if nothing had happened. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's not mine," Richard replied. "Made a detour on the way back to grab some things. A couple of guys jumped me. Probably just a coincidence."

"By God, are _they_ okay? Did you call an ambulance for them?"

"Wasn't necessary. I went easy on them."

Wellington calmed down. He let out a short sigh. The attackers were lucky that Richard was alone. Wellington didn't want to think what their fate would have been had he been accompanied by anyone he cared about. But something was fishy. Why would someone just randomly attack?

"Who was aware about this detour of yours?" the boy asked.

Richard knew what his friend was thinking. "The people with me and the pilots. Although someone might have overheard on the Enterprise. But I still think it was a coincidence."

Wellington stood silent for a few moments, as if pondering the possibilities, but ultimately dismissed his thoughts. "No matter," he finally spoke. "How did it go?"

"Great. I had Patton pour bleach in Top's fuel tank!"

"You did what?!" Wellington's voice echoed through the room and beyond. His eyebrows twitched.

"Hush, keep it down," Richard pleaded. Wellington was one of the few people who raised his voice at him. He normally didn't mind, but those weren't normal circumstances. "Nobody must know."

"Especially Darjeeling… right?" Wellington rubbed is forehead. He wasn't happy, but he lowered his voice. If Darjeeling found out, his previous ruse would have been for naught.

Sun Tzu held that the ruler should not interfere in matters of war. With one single move, Eton's captain had jeopardized the entire operation. That was not like him. If Wellington, or Darjeeling, or anyone he cared about was in trouble, Richard would risk life and limb to help, but he never put anyone else at risk. That was his code of honour. Perhaps he did not realize the peril, Wellington thought, but his friend was not stupid, so it had to be something else. "If they find out we've done something to their tanks, they'll report it to the Federation."

"They won't. Top will be too busy playing the guitar." His grin showed how confident Richard was, but to Wellington, it made no sense. The boy shook his head and stared confused, waiting for clarification. "I've put on one hell of a show for them when I visited," Richard explained. "Top is an arrogant fool. I made sure he'd be obsessed with rehearsing to catch up with me rather than training. Without him, the lead Sherman won't go anywhere."

So that was why Eton's captain had brought Sharpe, Castus and his maid, Lottie, with him. Dressed in her usual maid outfit, Lottie didn't seem exceptional, even if she was young and beautiful, but underneath hid the voice of a rock star. Sharpe and Castus were the last gears in Richard's band, both playing the bass and drums respectively, and with Richard as the guitar and occasional lead singer, their band had many fans.

Wellington constantly insisted that Richard instead focus on more pressing matters, but he never managed to convince his friend to abandon his more pointless hobbies. Richard's gamble was perhaps a way of proving Wellington that almost everything can be of use at a certain point.

For better or worse, Eton's glorious strategist could not deny that, if successful, Richard's stunt would give them a much-needed advantage over Roosevelt. Top's Easy Eight was bound to have the best crew. Taking it out of action could tip the balance… unless the crew switched tanks, of course.

Richard kept smiling, but Wellington wasn't convinced. His angry frown turned into a look of concern. The boy felt his friend should have consulted him first. "That's a big if." Wellington sighed.

"No bigger than the risks you've taken." Richard's smile vanished. He instead gave Wellington a piercing gaze. "You almost got all of Kuromorimine drowned, and the match with Pravda relied too much on Katyusha underestimating us."

"Napoleon was too naïve to see through my plan," Wellington defended. "And I told you there was no risk of drowning–"

"And I trusted you. Now it's your turn," Richard said.

"Very well," Wellington sighed again. "Just warn me next time." The boy paused for a moment. He looked out the window at nothing in particular, as if thinking for a comeback line. "At least my risks wouldn't get us disqualified."

"And mine don't get people hurt," Richard said. His smile had returned. Wellington preferred him that way. "What does that make us? You, lawful neutral and me chaotic good?"

"Yeah, something like that. Although I wouldn't exactly call myself lawful." He was normally against such silly classifications, but if forced, Wellington would have described both himself and his friend as neutral good. They both had their fluctuations, but that's how he saw it.

The methods he was forced to use had certainly ruined his image in the eyes of some. That undeniable fact served only to pain his heart. Other, however, looked at him with respect for having proven such intelligence and ingenuity, but that respect did not alleviate the pain much. Guilt weighted on his heart, but in the end, so long as he accomplished his goals and stayed true to his friends, it was enough.

Wellington rested his head on the back of the armchair and stared into the ceiling. "Why bleach?" he asked.

"Well, it's like water, but with a pinch of Chlorine for super oxidizing. The water sinks under the gasoline, so the fuel pump will fill the fuel lines with water instead of gasoline and the engine will have some major problems." Richard delivered the explanation with the usual fervour he showed when he played teacher. Wellington found his thirst for knowledge in all matters utterly useless, more so than even his hobbies, especially in an age where every answer was at the tip of your fingers, on the internet.

"I hope this doesn't backfire on us," Wellington said.

"It won't."

"I hope. I've got enough things on my mind as it is."

Wellington had once more given himself away. Attention from Richard on the matter was the last thing he wanted… but he could not deny that it was, perhaps, the one thing he needed. Richard predictably showed instant interest. "What's wrong?" His friend didn't even bother to evade.

"People may call me Wellington, and while I share many of his virtues, I lack his endurance," the boy explained. "I, like him, can cope with a huge workload and little sleep, but only for so long. I can't work for 90 hours with only 9 hours of rest like he did at Waterloo."

"Then… get some sleep," Richard suggested, as if it were obvious.

"I can't! I have a ton of things to consider, tactics to come up with, and the only thing I can think about is…" Wellington hesitated, but Richard's stare displayed a curiosity that couldn't be overcome unless sated. There was no turning back. "…Assam." For a couple of seconds Richard didn't react, as if the thought hadn't registered with him yet. Wellington, on the other side, looked nothing like the infatuated youth that would normally say such a thing. His expression instead was that of a man fed up with what he was going through. For someone as cynical as himself, love was new and troublesome feeling that kept him from functioning properly, which was a major drawback mere days from the Sensha-dou finals.

When Richard finally reacted, he almost burst into laughter, but desperately tried to control himself as to not humiliate his friend. He slapped Wellington on the back. "Congrats, mate. You're in love!"

"Tell me something I don't know," the boy said, the irate look in his eyes still painfully obvious.

"I, for one, can't be happier that I love Darjeeling as much as I do. She's perfect and I'll never find anyone better than her." Richard's optimism was nothing new. "I want to marry her."

"Slow down, Richard. It's a bit early to think of marriage."

"What about you and Assam. Don't you want to be together forever?" Richard innocently asked. Wellington was unimpressed by his naivety.

"Sure, I have no intention to break up with her, but I'm being pragmatic. No need to think about tying the knots this early."

"I guess I love Darjeeling more than you love Assam."

That much was obvious. Wellington knew his friend well enough. Twice the emotion, whatever he did, he did with passion. Whatever he was, he was with passion. His feelings knew no moderation. No matter how smart, no matter how sensible, his mind was still a slave to his heart. When he loved, he loved twice as strong. When he hated, his hatred was twice as intense. When he suffered, he did so twice as much and twice as long. Sadness, joy, anger, he felt everything tenfold.

"How am I supposed to get work done?" Wellington complained. "If only I could share the workload, as unlike Wellesley as it might be… But Monty is only operational a quarter of the day and I have no one else." He let his head drop on the backrest of the chair again and let out another one of his trademark sighs.

Richard's response was to smile as always. His pool of confidence had no end. "I might have an idea…" he said. "What if I got you Chi-Ha-Tan's Shogun?" Wellington wasn't sure what his friend meant, but he would take any advantage. Richard took his phone out formed a number. The room stood in silence for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the clock to accompany it. "I want a VTOL ready first thing tomorrow morning," the boy said into the phone.

Curiosity overwhelmed Wellington. The girl had experienced Roosevelt tactics first hand. Her insight could prove invaluable and shave hours off his research. As soon as Richard put his cell down, he spoke. "How would you get me the Shogun?"

"Oh, I know her for a while. We've had a few kendo matches." Richard once more smiled confidently, with a faint sign of smug satisfaction. He had proven his friend once more that anything can turn into an advantage. If he kept that up, Wellington would be forced to stop pestering him about wasting time.

"Fine. I'll call Heinz then. Maybe he'll lend a hand."

"Can I get you anyone else?"

"I don't want Manstein, but Napoleon might have something useful to say. Don't invite her, just see if she has anything to say about Roosevelt. I bet she'll be eager to highlight any weakens of theirs she knows, if she knows any."

"Done!" Richard turned to leave, but stopped in middle of the room and looked back. "One last thing." His expression had suddenly become serious. "I don't like Roosevelt. There's something about them… And since they're not girls, you don't need to hold back. You have my blessing. You may pursue victory… at any cost."

* * *

Wellington sat in his chair like he usually did, going through his papers like an overzealous accountant, trying to figure out the best ways to defeat the enemy. He had focused one hundred percent on building the best possible strategy for the finals, to the point where he neglected Assam. But she still was on his mind more than he was comfortable with.

The door slowly opened, then closed, as if handled by a sloth. Monty dragged his feet to Wellington's desk. "Bad news," he said.

"What is it?" Wellington asked.

"Results came in from the Crusader training." Wellington didn't say a thing. He simply stared at Monty, waiting for him to proceed. The boy yawned, then continued. "80% accuracy for the 6 pounders."

"What?! That's great news!" Wellington erupted. What fine fellows they had made of them, he thought.

"No. There was a discrepancy in the numbers…" Monty argued. He let out a tired sigh. "I mean, 60% accuracy for the 17 pounders, but with less training, 80% accuracy for the 6 pounders," he tried to explain. Wellington looked at him baffled.

"I don't understand."

"So I did some research… checked some numbers… turns out the 17 pounder lacks long range precision." Silence. Wellington wasn't sure whether his ears were tricking him. "So far we blamed it on the gunner skills, but… I even ran the older numbers," Monty continued. "Turns out the Crusaders were more accurate even if the crews had gained more experience by the time they manned the Fireflies. At first I thought it was because they didn't adapt yet to the 17 pounder, but after going through the archives…"

Everything became clear. The first matches were fought with 2 and 6 pounders manned by unexperienced gunners, so accuracy was to be expected to be low. Wellington finally understood. They had just stumbled over a fact that eluded them all that time, something that they had failed to anticipate and prepare for. He felt a large hole in his stomach. "Why didn't any of the gunners tell us anything?" he mumbled.

"The battles were fought at close ranges. Maybe they didn't notice. They're not exactly seasoned fighters, you know," Monty said. He appeared to be surprisingly composed despite being the barer of horrible news. But Wellington was horrified, too shocked to be bothered by his friend's lack of concern.

"By God… but during the Gordost match, Tadatsune hit Peter's T-44 from almost a kilometre away," Wellington still clung onto the hope that the numbers were wrong.

"A lucky shot, I'd say. Accuracy is around 50% at that range, from professional gunners… APDS is even less accurate, but we took the Maus from under 100 meters… and every other shot from 17 pounder before was at close range or missed horribly." Monty was right. Wellington could no longer deny. The numbers did not lie.

"The 17 pounder was already difficult to load and lifted a ton of dust with every shot, and now this! By God…" His plans were to purchase more Fireflies, make them the backbone. He already had two more than he had Comets – a terrible mistake.

"Yeah, for all intents and purposes, the 76mm on the Easy Eight is superior in all ways…" Monty concluded.

"I was convinced it was a great gun." Wellington's voice trembled. He had put much hope in Britain's tank killer.

"Yeah, it has a long barrel, so I presumed it had high precision myself. I check penetration table, but I must admit I didn't look into accuracy tests."

"Then we're doomed…" Wellington said, utter despair in his voice. His head fell on the table with a thump. "The 17 pounder was our best gun." He swallowed dry to fight the lump in his throat.

"Not really, we still have the 77mm HV on the Comet."

"That's derived from the 17 pounder. It's shorter, uses less powder in the shell charge, thus having lower velocity. It's probably even less accurate because of it," Wellington said without lifting his head from the desk. "And it has lower penetration."

"Not really. After I discovered this whole fiasco, I went in the archives to make sure we don't miss anything else. Turns out the 77mm HV is significantly more accurate, probably because of the lower recoil. Don't forget Sharpe pinned that BT-7 from more than a kilometre away with it."

Wellington's face lit up. Hope refilled his heart, washing away all previous disappointment. "Oh, thank God," he sighed relieved, but another thought made him cringe. "Do you realize how close were to utter defeat against Gordost? I had sent the Shermans to engage the heavies because we needed the mobility of the Comets to bait Peter's T-44s, and because the 17 pounder was better against thick armour… It was an extremely lucky coincidence that the Shermans fought at short range. Had they been forced to engage Peter's medium tank squadron, we would have been crushed."

"Yeah. You're a lucky bastard," said Monty. He was somewhat impressed how fast Eton's commander had recovered from the abysmal state he had been in mere moments before.

"Got get some sleep," urged Wellington, completely back to normal. "I'll need you again tomorrow."

"Those words are like music to my ears," said Monty as he left the room. "The first part, at least."

The first thing Wellington did after Monty's departure was to grab his phone. He rapidly punched his gunner's name on the touch screen, eager to question him.

"Sharpe, did you not notice the 17 pounder had horrible precision?"

"What? I… I did."

"Then why didn't you tell me?!"

"Huh? I thought you knew."

Wellington audibly brought his pam on his face. He hanged up without even saying goodbye, probably leaving Sharpe even more confused. "Bloody hell," he mumbled to himself, but worrying about the past was pointless. He had more important things to do.

Silence returned to the chamber and Wellington let it fill his mind. It had been a stressful day. Perhaps it was wise to give Assam a call. He owed her at least one bit of attention. The girl hadn't come that night to serve him tea like she usually did. It was a bit peculiar, but he hadn't paid it any heed before that. Come to think of it, she should have dropped by around the time Richard was being debriefed…

A cold shiver went down his spine. She heard their conversation! It was certain! He knew her well enough to gauge her reaction. Even if she did arrive early enough to hear about Richard's sabotage, she probably wouldn't mention it to Darjeeling. No, that wasn't what bugged him.

Most girls would be happy to know their boyfriends couldn't stop thinking about them, but Assam was different. She'd blame herself for standing in his way to victory. He had to call her at once– No! He had to go to her in person.

In one swift move, Wellington got up from his desk and ran to the door. Leaving his office behind, he rushed to the Tea Garden like a whirlwind. He couldn't help but think that Arthur Wellesley had little success as a husband. Wellington hoped he'd have better luck. He had to fix his mistake. Some might have called him dishonourable. Some might have called him insensitive or rude even, but his heart was not frozen. He could not bear the thought of making Assam suffer. Something had to be done.


	29. Revelations

Wellington paused to catch a breath. The cool night breeze blew through his hair, sending a faint chill down his spine. His heavy breathing combined with the coldness of the air made his throat sore. He had rushed to the Tea Garden to find Assam, but she wasn't there. Orange Pekoe told him that she and Darjeeling had not returned yet. The only other place she could have been was the Sensha-dou Club's headquarters, where he started off his search. He couldn't believe that the thought hadn't occurred to him before. The whole trip had been for nothing.

He sat on a bench to relax for a moment. In his mind, he cursed that he hadn't done more endurance training. Compared to him, Richard and Gendou could run a marathon, and even Markus would have had little trouble jogging from home to school, even if strength wise he was comparable to Wellington. Another breeze whistled through the leaves. The park was empty and silent, nothing but the faint light of the moon and a couple of light posts to guide the way through. Wellington specifically chose the route through the park knowing that Assam always traveled by it. He was almost back at the headquarters, and given he hadn't stumbled upon the girl on the way back, she had to be inside. After a few moments, he got up from the bench and, with renewed strength, started running again.

When he finally reached the building it appeared abandoned for the night. His office was just as he had left it, dark, but on the other side, the library windows glittered with faint light. Perhaps it was Richard. He had the habit of wasting whole nights to read on completely random subjects. Wellington had once stumbled on him reading about quantum mechanics – utterly pointless in their field of work.

The boy hurried up the stairs to the second floor, then down the corridor towards the library. Perhaps Richard knew something about Assam's location. He opened the door and entered the room expecting to catch his best friend reading something ambiguous like foreign literature or some paper on theoretical physics, but what greeted him was completely unexpected.

The light that Wellington had seen from outside was nothing more than a desk lamp, and under it Assam was reading something. She sat peacefully in a chair, focused on a small book. Her eyes racing across the page, she occasionally gave the paper a sharp glare, as if aiming a gun at particular words like they were enemy tanks. Wellington expected her to be sad, but the determination in her eyes made him think that she was perhaps angry instead. The thought sent shivers down his spine. A part of him wanted to leave. The last thing he felt like doing to face was an angry girlfriend, but he steeled his resolve and stepped forward.

"Good evening… Assam." The girl flinched. At the sound of the boy's voice she instantly closed the book and jumped to her feet. She turned towards him took a small bow.

"Err… good evening, Wellington-sama!" Her cheeks were bright red and she avoided his gaze. Wellington sighed relived, she wasn't angry, but she didn't seem sad either. Something was off. On the table, he finally noticed what book Assam was reading.

"Sun Tzu's Art of War?" Wellington looked baffled at the girl. Why was Assam reading Sun Tzu late in the evening? She was a gunner, not a commander. What purpose did it serve? And then it clicked. Everything made sense. She had definitely heard his affirmation earlier that day, but rather than be discouraged by it, she felt motivated. She had been reading on military strategy and tactics, and it was not a recently started endeavor. On closer inspection, the desk also held Guderian's _Achtung – Panzer!_ and Carl von Clausewitz's _Vom Kriege_. The girl was studying to help him. "Assam, you… you don't have to."

"But, I want to help you…" She was blushing terribly. Her eyes met his for a moment, then she looked away. Her hands were shaking. Wellington knew he had to do something to calm her. What would have Richard said? He took a deep breath and spoke up.

"The translation by Lionel Giles was a great place to start. But I'd also recommend Griffith's version. While I personally prefer good old Giles, Griffith's commentaries are a good next step in understanding Sun Tzu's book." sne. The girl looked up, her cheeks slowly returning to their normal color. Her gaze regained its sharpness. With a fresh smile on her face and joy in her eyes, she nodded.

* * *

It was a sunny day. It was their first double date. Richard, Wellington, Darjeeling and Assam had gone to a nice restaurant, an outdoor luxury diner, the best HMS Audacity had to offer. Things had been slow and a bit awkward at first, but by the time the first course was served, they had relaxed. Richard was great at managing situations, and Darjeeling was not too shabby either, but of all the idle chatter of the evening, there was one part that stood up among the rest.

"So, did you get Earl Grey to help you on some actual serious matches, or you just keep chatting about tanks in general?" Richard asked.

"Actually, we haven't talked in quite a while," Wellington admitted.

"What about you, darling? Had you ever taken advantage of your senior's experience?"

"Earl Grey was kind enough to provide wisdom, but I must admit that she didn't involve herself much after graduation," Darjeeling said.

Wellington took a sip of his tea. "She's a peculiar lass. For as far as I could tell, she's not that interested in such matters. To her, Sensha-dou was merely a hobby."

Darjeeling looked at Wellington and smiled. "And to you, Sir Wellington, what is Sensha-dou?"

"A means to an end," the boy answered flatly.

"Oh…" Darjeeling raised her eyebrows. She expected Wellington to clarify, but her interjection was followed by silence. A glance given to Richard also yielded no result. The boy to keep up his trademark smile, not betraying a single thing. He either knew nothing or was unwilling to tell. Unable to gain an answer, the girl chose the direct approach. "And what end is that?" she asked.

"That, milady, I am afraid I cannot say."

* * *

"Oh, Richard, you're such a tease!" Richard smiled at Darjeeling and pulled her closer to him. They kept walked down the hallway, then something caught the boy's attention. His smile vanished as he focused his hearing. "What is it?" the girl asked.

They were right in front of the library door. Richard grabbed Darjeeling by the shoulders and gently pushed her against the wall. Surprised, the girl tried to speak, but he put his finger on her lips to silence her. Blood rushed, her pulse quickened, Darjeeling's heart skipped a beat. Richard was more forceful than usual. So close to her, his breath brushing her cheek, the feeling of his skin against her lips sent an electrifying chill down her body. She let out a muffled moan. Richard pointed with his eyes towards the library room, then the girl finally became aware of the conversation going on inside.

Darjeeling noted Assam's voice, she was one of the people present… and the other was Wellington. She looked up at Richard. The boy was completely focused. A smile slowly crept on his face. His hearing must have been better than hers, either that or his focus gave him an advantage. She found it difficult to concentrate herself, especially in such a position. Her heart was still racing. As if having noticed her quickened heartbeat, or finally remembering, Richard let go. He gave a warm smile and invited her to look.

It was dishonorable to eavesdrop, but curiosity overwhelmed Darjeeling. She peaked in and saw Assam sitting at one of the tables while Wellington was searching the bookshelves. Finally able to focus, the girl heard their conversation.

Assam's voice betrayed anxiety. Whatever had happened, Darjeeling guessed it was intense. She'd have to question Richard later about the parts that she'd missed. "I don't want you to have any regrets because of me…" Assam said.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence, then Wellington spoke up. "The only thing I regret is… not remembering our first kiss…"

Richard almost cracked up. It was the first time he heard his friend say something so romantic. He could barely abstain from bursting into laughter, not because it was funny, but because it was so unlike Wellington to speak so. Assam had completely changed him. A couple of centimeters away from him, Darjeeling was biting down on her handkerchief. Even in the dark, Richard could see her blush and a few tears flowing down her cheeks. It was as if she was reading the climax of a romance novel, or watching a soap opera. The whole scene was killing him. It took all the focus he could conjure to hold it in.

"Presuming Richard didn't lie," Wellington added.

"He didn't," Assam said. "Darjeeling-sama confirmed."

"Ah, here it is." Wellington grabbed a book from the shelves.

"Wellington-sama, why do you fight?" Assam's question was sudden. Her piercing gaze robbed Wellington of his confidence. It was the first time she looked at him like that. Before, she was always a bit shy, almost as if she were afraid of him, afraid of angering him. The boy was all too familiar with that reaction. Arthur Wellesley seldom showed his fiery temper, but Wellington and his choleric temperament always appeared irritable, which he was, but definitely not with Assam. Darjeeling had noticed that and always used her friend against him. Of course, she had absolutely nothing to fear in truth, and she seemed to have finally realized it. They had just reached a new level in their relationship.

Faced with Assam's question, Wellington let out a sigh. He would have preferred not to talk about it. Few people knew his secret, all of them close to him, all of them unlikely to judge. Richard was one of them. The boy's eyes met Assam's once more. Her interest was obvious, probably born out of curiosity, or perhaps from genuine interest in her lover, but Wellington could read that she would not insist if denied. He still had a way out, but his heart told him that it was finally time to reveal his well-guarded secret to Assam. Yes, he could trust her.

Seeing that Wellington hadn't answered yet, Assam backed down. "I… I just want to get to know you better," she said. That was short lived, the boy thought. Perhaps they hadn't reach the next level just yet. But his mind was made up. He would tell her his secret.

"My father was an officer in His Royal Majesty's army, serving in the Middle East. A couple of years ago, he was killed in action." Assam's interest turned into horror. She didn't want to force him remember that kind of past. She tried to say something but Wellington kept talking. "I won't go into details, but our family was impoverished. We were close to bankruptcy." There was no sadness in his voice. Wellington was simply stating facts. Assam feared that he had buried his sorrow deep inside.

"We were offered help, but in return, I would have to join a prestigious officer school and essentially sign up for a lifetime of service. Even back then, I was known for my… talent... a blessing and a curse at the same time." A trace of regret made the boy's voice faintly shake. Assam took a step forward, but stopped short of reaching him. "I, of course, agreed wholeheartedly, but an old friend stopped me. Richard wouldn't just stand aside while I sold my youth. He asked me to come to Eton with him, and in return Stanfield would take Greenberg under their protection. It took some persuading, but I ultimately agreed. It was for the best… after all, I met you." Wellington looked up at Assam. The girl stood with her hands folded as if in prayer, a few tears in her eyes that reflected a mix of joy and sorrow.

"Richard brought you here to bring him victory…" Assam deduced. "Was all the Machiavellian talk just an act?" she asked. "Is it Richard who is in fact the desperate one?!" she cried. The thought of him taking the blame for Richard's obsession, of protecting Richard's image at the cost of his own was unbearable.

From the shadows, Darjeeling played close attention. The answer would determine if she was right about her love. Richard didn't react in any way. It was a good sign. Had he suddenly decided to leave, it would have been suspicious. She gave him a glance, but he did not return it. She simply watched and listened with the same smile on his face.

"No. I am desperate for victory because I promised it to Richard. He saved my family from poverty and me from war. In return, I made an oath. Eton shall win. I will respect that oath, whether he still wants it or not. Those were the terms of our friendly contract."

Silence returned to the room once more. Assam finally understood Wellington's stakes. "Thank you for sharing that with me…" Assam said. "I hope that I will soon be able to help you pay your debts."

Wellington put his hands on Assam's shoulders and leaned closer. At the door, Darjeeling's eyes grew wider and wider. Her handkerchief was barely holding together, almost ripped in half by her teeth. Even Richard could not avert his eyes, staring with growing curiosity.

"You don't need to do anything. I will love you regardless, Lily…"

After staring continuously for such a long time, Richard blinked. He wasn't sure what he had heard. His thoughts were interrupted by the two lovers sharing a kiss. He grinned, then looked at Darjeeling to see her reaction. He expected her to succumb to the intensity of emotion and rip the handkerchief apart with her teeth. However, rather than break down crying tears of joy, his accomplice instead stared quietly, with a somber expression on her face.

"We should go… give them some privacy…" Darjeeling finally spoke up. She knew something… something about what Wellington had said and Richard hadn't quite caught. Richard could deduce as much. The girl felt his gaze. "We'll talk on the way, follow me…" Richard complied. He followed her down the hallway and outside the building. What was the scope of a secret that couldn't be spoken, he wondered.

"What did he call her?" A few meters away from the exit, Richard could no longer reign his curiosity in. "I didn't quite catch that, but I'm certain that's why you wanted us to leave."

"He called her… by her real name…" Darjeeling said.

"I thought you don't have a name anymore. I thought you take soul names and eliminate the real…"

"We do…" Darjeeling didn't seem to pay much attention to what Richard was asking. Whatever thoughts had been trigger by Wellington's words were still on her mind. "She's that serious…" Darjeeling mumbled. "Sorry, what I'm trying to say is that Wellington probably asked her… and she told him…"

"You don't normally do that?" Richard asked.

"We have no specific rules against it… it has never been done before…" Darjeeling looked at her boyfriend in a pleading way. "Aren't you going to ask me mine?"

"If you want to tell me, dear, I'm more than glad to listen," Richard answered. "But Adrian and I are very much different. Names mean little to me. To me you are my darling, my love, my sweetheart, my other half, and I'm willing to call you however you like…"

* * *

"So you fight for someone else… you fight for Richard's sake…" Assam said. Richard and Darjeeling had left, but the conversation was not over.

"Not only for that… I have my own end to achieve…" Wellington mumbled. "The one I talked about that evening…" Assam didn't say a thing, but the boy could tell she was curious. Her gaze was the same as before, the one that pleaded for, but did not demand an answer. He had gone that far, one more step was not much. "The truth is that I cannot rely on Richard forever. I will have to earn for my family myself eventually. My skills are limited, so only one path is open to me… the army." Assam flinched. His words made no sense.

The Duke of Wellington had no stomach for the horrors of war. He hated the aftermath, especially reading the casualty list. He called it "the butcher's bill". On reading the Waterloo list he broke down. The man determined that it would be his last battle. Yet his namesake, the boy Assam loved, the one who taught her about Wellesley and personally drew the parallels, was willing to choose such a path? Was it revenge for his father that he sought? Or perhaps he did not have as weak a stomach as the duke and found it an acceptable path. Would he abandon her for it?

"However, I plan to join them on my own terms. So far I have gained plenty of respect. I had to play dirty, I had no other way, but there are a few notable officers who follow Eton's battles. Their numbers grew after every match. So far I've received a few invitations from the Royal Armoured Corps. I aim for an Armoured Regiment, preferably the Royal Tank Regiment. If we manage to defeat Roosevelt I am certain I will get the best offer possible."

"Whatever your choice, you have my support." Assam put her hand on Wellington's shoulder. The boy smiled, a rare sight.

"Thank you, Lily, for everything."


	30. A day out, Part 1

A timid light pierced through the windows illuminating the room. Wellington woke up and rubbed his eyes. Assam was sleeping peacefully beside him, her head resting on his chest. He slowly moved his hand through her hair and caressed her cheek gently as to not wake her up. Someone knocked on the door, but didn't wait for an answer. Richard entered the room. Assam moved a bit but didn't wake up.

"What's the point of knocking if you're not going to wait for an answer?" asked Wellington. His question was rhetorical. It wasn't the first time Richard just burst in. The boy quickly grabbed some papers and headed for the exit, as if not noticing anything, then he stopped just before closing the door. A sudden realization crept into his consciousness. He turned around, a huge grin on his face. "Ooooooh!" he exclaimed.

"We didn't do anything," Wellington said.

Richard kept grinning and walked towards the door. "Sure you didn't."

"We–" The door closed. "By God…" Wellington let out a long sigh leaned back down on the couch. Luckily, his friend was discrete. Whether he seriously thought what he meant or was just teasing, he was certain not to talk about it with anyone.

It was a miracle Wellington and Assam could fit the small couch in his office. The sofa wasn't exactly large, but he managed to get good enough sleep. The girl seemed relaxed herself. It was the first time he slept in the same general area with somebody. Normally, he could barely fall asleep with someone in the room, let alone the same bed.

Assam slowly opened her eyes and stretched her arms. "Good morning, Wellington-sama." She snuggled her head in his chest and smiled. "What plans do you have for today?"

"Work, work and more work. Oh, and we have that double date with Richard and Darjeeling."

"I can't wait," Assam said. She finally got up and ran to the bathroom.

Wellington stood up, starched his muscles and yawned. "A double date mere days from the finals… great…" he mumbled to himself. "Can't fight it… might as well enjoy myself."

* * *

The sound and salty smell of the sea breeze washed over Richard. Even if he spent most of his time on a floating school, the beach still cheered him up. Darjeeling sat on the bench right next to him, staring into the horizon. It was quiet and relaxing, perfect to calm the nerves before the final battle. Wellington stepped in front of them. He was holding a huge ice cream, three scoops, vanilla, mascarpone and tiramisu flavors. Next to him, Assam had a small, one scoop vanilla ice cream.

"You sure you don't want some?" Wellington asked.

"I'm fine, thank you," Darjeeling said.

"You sugar intake is too high, mate. You'll get fat," Richard said.

Assam was quite slender and could afford putting on a few pounds. Few knew that she had actually tried to, in an attempt to become curvier like her senior, but failed to achieve anything. Darjeeling was more than happy with how she looked, and preferred not to change her weight at all if possible, so she refrained from excess eating. As for Richard, he was always on one diet or another, treating his body like a temple.

"I trust my metabolism," Wellington said. "For now…"

The group continued their walk. As always, when Richard was on shore, he drew the gazes of every girl he came in range of. On the Audacious, Darjeeling was respected and her relationship with Richard was well known, but when away she had to keep him close. The girl tightened her grasp of his arm whenever she thought another lady was looking at him too much. Assam had no such issues. Wellington, despite not as hypnotizing as his friend, was a handsome young man in his own right, but his constant frowning made him more intimidating than charming.

Richard noticed that Darjeeling was clingier than usual, and felt the need to assure her of his loyalty. "You know the saying…" he said. "A gentleman attracts the attention of many, but only has eyes for his own lady." Darjeeling appreciated the thought, even if it was unnecessary. She smiled at him. Her act was more to discourage rivals than to stop Richard. Her trust in him was absolute.

Their walk brought them to a convenience store. "Let's get some ice tea," Wellington suggested. They entered the small shop to resupply. The owner was a nice old man who was more than happy to serve two young couples. The region they were in had a relatively aged population. The youngsters who lived there preferred spending their time in malls over visiting small shops like his. Having such young customers was a rare and welcomed sight. Old Japanese people were very kind and modest, Wellington noted as they stepped outside, much more so than the British.

"Well, well, well, lookie who's here!" A young woman, slightly taller than Darjeeling, with crimson red hair, leaned on the wall outside of the convenience store. The second he heard her voice, Richard's smile vanished. His expression changed suddenly as if his day had just been ruined. "Richie, you never call. It's as if you don't care…" the girl said mockingly. Darjeeling and Assam looked confused at the girl, then at Richard, then back at the girl. She wore a grin from one ear to the other, like the Joker minus the Glasgow smile. Richard didn't say a thing. It was as if he was still hoping his senses were tricking him. "I get to talk more with Adie…"

"Don't, eh, call me that," Wellington interrupted.

The newcomer had the look of an athlete. The way she carried herself made it obvious that she was trained in at least one form of martial arts. Her arms had toned muscles and, while not as bulky as Richard or Castus, she was visibly stronger than Darjeeling and Assam. Despite that, the girl had an exotic beauty about her and a visage that no sane person could have sincerely called unattractive. By the shape of her face, she appeared to have a predominant Chinese heritage, with a mix of European blood. Compared to the elegance dominated girls of Gloriana, this young woman looked dangerous, like a poisonous forbidden fruit, like she could break your arms and legs on a whim. Her glare could have daunted even the most confident of men, but for the moment, she kept smiling. Assam remained silent, taken aback by the situation, but Darjeeling was not intimidated by her.

"I don't believe we've met before. I am Darjeeling. Pleased to meet you." The redhead gave the blonde a look and chuckled, but otherwise ignored her and returned her attention to Richard.

"This is your new girlfriend, Richie? Guess I shouldn't be surprised… You always preferred weaker girls."

Richard's patience finally ended. He opened his mouth, but Wellington interrupted him. "That, ladies, is Beka. Our spy within Gordost," the boy said. "Would have been nice if you actually said hello, but I know you're not into formalities." His mocking tone rivaled hers, but that was to be expected from Eton's glorious strategist. He, Sharpe and Monty, when he was awake, were the schools masters of sarcasm.

"Oh, where are my manners?" Beka said. "Greetings, ladies and gentlemen!" She spread her arms as if welcoming an embrace that didn't come. Out of her mouth, the terms sounded a lot different, twisted by the charade. "Now that we're done with the formalities, let's get back to business. Fight me, Richie!" Beka cried and assumed what appeared to be a battle stance. She smiled, eagerly waiting for Richard's attack. But the attack, just like the embrace, did not come.

"No," Richard said. He stared her down, but the girl didn't seem too affected by his glare. "This is neither the time nor the place."

"Oh, come on! I'm itching for a decent fight!" Beka moaned. Her provocative look became pleading for a second, then devious. "I know how to get you worked up," she added. A quick glance at Darjeeling made Richard's body tense up.

"You wouldn't dare…" Richard muttered. Beka took a step towards the group. Richard reacted by getting in front of Darjeeling. The blonde's courage wavered. If Beka was on their side, why did she act so? That was the question on the girl's mind. The red-head seemed capable enough to give Richard a run for his money. The situation wasn't promising.

Beka kept smiling and took another step. "I'll break your limbs…" Richard threatened. That was the turning point. Before then, he had proven to be able of intimidation, but was never downright scary. The way he spoke those words sent a chill down Darjeeling's spine. There was a hatred in his voice she had not heard before.

"I know you'll try…" The fiery red-head started circling around Richard like a predator would a mother to reach her cubs. The boy moved with her, keeping himself between Beka and Darjeeling. They stared at each other, trying to foresee each other's actions. Beka's dangerous smile and Richard's ice cold eyes were locked in a battle of glares, like a tiger and a lion in the middle of a showdown.

Darjeeling's pulse quickened. Confused and a bit scared, her hands shook. Stiff upper lip, she told herself, but it was not enough. She was not an authentic Englishwoman, after all… No, even an authentic one would have trembled in such a situation. Finally, Beka struck. Like a snake, she dashed forward. A few blows were exchanged with Richard, too fast to count with the naked eye, but none were successful. A dodge, or two perhaps, and several blocks, Darjeeling counted. Then Beka somehow managed to get behind her opponent. Swiftly, she had circled him. There was nothing left between her and her prey. Darjeeling was left defenseless. Yet the tiger's gamble didn't pay off. The reckless attack had left her open. With a single move, Richard grabbed his opponent's hand and dragged her away, towards him. Yet he did not strike. He hesitated. In that short time, Beka spun and escaped his grasp. Once more she aimed to attack Darjeeling, but Richard would have none of that. He finally abandoned all pretense and after grabbing her once more, delivered a strong punch to her gut. The girl fell to the ground, coughing. The strike had taken her out for the moment. She was breathing with difficulty.

Everyone stood in awe. Darjeeling was still shocked. She didn't utter a word. Richard had just broken one of his rules… to never hit a girl. But she would not blame him for protecting her. That would have been foolish and vain. No, she was grateful that her beloved had saved her. Richard was her guardian knight in shining armor. Even Wellington was taken aback, not by Richard breaking his own rules, for he was very much aware that defending love ones took priority over honor, but because the girl was good enough to require such an action. He knew something of her past, but he had no idea she was that good. It was no overstatement what Richard had told him… they truly must have been the best students in their class. Mere moments later, far sooner than anyone expected, Beka got back to her feet. Her smile returned, more insidious than before. She laughed, despite the pain in her stomach.

"That's the Richard I know!" she cried. Once more the two fighters faced in contest of stares, but it was cut short. A cutesy ringtone came out from one of Beka's pocket, like a pop song out an anime. "_Co kurwa?!_ Excuse me."

"You're not Polish, Beka…" Wellington said.

The girl grabbed a pink cell phone and answered. "Oh, Natalie!"

"Don't call me Natalie!" a roar echoed from the phone. The rest was inaudible, but the conversation went on for a few moments. Beka was a completely different person when talking to her Gordost commander. She giggled and said silly things. Even Richard was surprised by the sudden change in speech._ "Kurwa znowu!"_ Beka finally erupted. "Sorry guys, gotta go! Bye!" She started running away from the group, her red ponytail swinging violently from side to side. "Call me, Richard!" she cried from the distance. The boy sighed relieved.

"That was interesting," Darjeeling shrugged, trying to defuse the tension. Richard had told her about their spy in Gordost and their past training with a martial arts master in Germany. The rest she could either work out herself or could ask Richard later, but for the time, she had to calm Assam down, who was perhaps the most concerned. "We should do that again," she said with a bright smile on her face. Richard knew it was all an act, but he didn't care.

"Never again," the blonde boy said bluntly. It wasn't fun for him. He wanted to bury his past and never think of it again. Unfortunately for Beka, it meant that she would have to be buried with it.

"I had no idea she was that desperate for a rematch," Wellington said. Richard had talked about it with him, and Darjeeling knew too. Only Assam was left in the dark. Perhaps that was Wellington's way to spoil his girlfriend.

"I did…" Richard mumbled. "I'm sorry, everyone…" The boy didn't turn as he spoke those words. He kept staring in the direction Beka had run. He knew it would all eventually catch up with him. It had become unavoidable the moment he accepted Wellington's request to contact the girl after they learned she joined Gordost.

"Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure," said Darjeeling.

"Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice," Richard muttered, his gaze still aimed at the horizon. "Beka is not that bad… in some way's she's better than me… but that is a story for another time… Let's go…"

Richard started walking the opposite direction. Darjeeling quickly caught up and took his arm. Sitting in the doorway of his shop, the old man held a phone in his hand. He had probably planned to call the police, but the ruckus ended before he could act. Wellington let out a sigh. He gestured the man to relax. No call was necessary. Despite having understood the basic gist of things, Assam was still a bit confused. She walked next to Wellington, looking inquisitively at him, but there was nothing more he could explain. He simply put his arm around her shoulder, pulled her close, and followed Richard's footsteps.

The group continued their stroll. Things had finally relaxed again. Richard started laughing and joking. Everyone was smiling, even Wellington, but not ten minutes after Beka's departure things got tense again. Richard's expression slowly became serious again. His gaze sharpened. Something was amiss. He slowed down and discretely approached Wellington. They were being followed. A bunch of burly young men had been tailing them since they left the convenience store. Richard counted four. Basic tactics dictated they only engage the enemy on advantageous terrain, Wellington recommended as much, but before they managed to enact any plan, they were surrounded. On top of the four that tailed them, four more appeared.

Richard took a deep breath… if he was right, another fight, one far more serious, had just become unavoidable.


	31. A day out, Part 2

"Hey, guys, I think we hit the jackpot tonight!" The tallest guy in the group was the first to talk. Apparently the leader, he had a short scar on his left cheek and his untidy hair covered another one on his forehead. Richard scanned him and his goons, trying to determine the best strategy of approach. Judging by the stupidity in their eyes, diplomacy was unlikely to succeed. The eight men formed a circle around the four Eton students. There was no way out. With the park empty, no help in sight, they were on their own.

Assam started faintly shivering… the situation was overwhelming. Wellington gently took her hand in his. She looked up at him and noticed he had a faint smile as he gazed at his friend. Such confidence was surprising, especially since only Richard had proven to be an able fighter. Darjeeling's fencing and basic hand-to-hand were of no use in a real combat situation. Despite all that, Wellington's faith in Richard was absolute.

"Hey, girls, why don't you drop the losers and hang with us?" a fat boy suggested. Wellington chuckled at how unbelievably foolish those people were. They were not native to the area – such a large group of burly young men itching for an unfair fight couldn't have lived in such a peaceful town. They were more of the city scum type.

"You laughin' at me, bitch!?" the fat boy snapped. He looked threateningly at Wellington, but got no reaction. Instead, it took all of Wellington's strength not to burst out laughing. The whole charade was so cheesy. The absurdity of the encounter was killing him. In his opinion, people like those should have be shot, but the hilarity of it all eclipsed his murderous thoughts.

"Please, gentlemen. We don't want any trouble." Richard spoke confidently, with his usual warm smile on, but anyone who knew him could read it was fake.

"Too late, pretty boy! Hottie here is coming with us." The fat man took a step towards Darjeeling. He tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but Richard countered like a bullet. In the blink of an eye, he had grabbed the boy's hand, stopping him before he could touch the girl.

"Please," Richard said, his mask not yet off.

"Let go, mofo, or I'll snap your neck." The threat came out like the guttural squeak of a pig, a boiling rage oozing from it. He tried to free his hand but could not. Richard's grasp was unbreakable, just like his smile. The uncanny combination got the fat boy nervous. Darjeeling made the mistake to intervene in that delicate moment. She put her hand on Richard's, in an attempt to defuse the situation, an attempt that failed miserably. Like an enraged bull, the fat boy swung his free hand. Richard dogged with ease, without even letting go, but the attack scraped Darjeeling. The girl let out a short cry and stumbled a few steps backward. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she was otherwise unharmed – a lucky miss.

Richard breathed out, his eyes fixed into the ground, hidden behind his blond bangs. An uncanny silence emanated from him. His smile was gone. Before the fat boy could do another thing, Richard tightened his grasp. When he finally raised his gaze and looked up at his opponent, his eyes burned with the rage of a thousand suns, a cold fury that could disarm any enemy by pure terror. The large lad flinched at the stare. He tried to free his arm from Richard's grasp but he could not. Richard tightened his grasp again. The bully's wrist cracked. He let out a moan of terrible pain, but could still not escape. The pain turned to anger. He clenched his right arm into a fist and threw it at Richard – a foolish move. Such a basic attack from an unexperienced foe was easily countered.

Back in the day, before he had become a lion, Richard had been known in Germany as _the Yellow Haired, Blue Eyed Demon_. His attack of choice was a simple but effective counter to what most ordinary ruffians chose as a means of enforcing their will… their fists. The most common and widely used fist attack was throwing a punch with your dominant arm. Richard had developed a way to use it to his advantage and permanently disarm his opponent in one swift move. Even after becoming infamous, most people still attacked him recklessly, leaving themselves open to his counter.

The fat lump of flesh and bone flew towards Richard's face. To an untrained combatant, avoiding it might have been difficult, but to a martial artist, it was coming painfully slow. The boy swiftly dodged to the left, allowing his opponent's right arm to fly past him. He let go of the fat boy's left arm and instead grabbed his right one, drawing it away from its owner and in one swift hit… blood gushed. Richard hit the extended arm right in the elbow with enough force to push it inwards, splitting the bone that pierced the flesh and let out a fountain of blood. Paralyzed by the pain, the fat boy started screaming, but his punishment was not over. He had tried to touch Darjeeling, something not even Beka dared to try seriously – he dared to strike her – a broken bone and cracked wrist was not enough punishment. One swift kick in the lower leg broke the tibia and fibula both, sending another gush of blood into the air. Richard had disabled three of his enemy's limbs in less than a minute.

The mask had cracked. It had been a long time since Wellington last witnessed Richard's unrestrained fury. The outburst caused by Ark Royal's sinking would pale in comparison. He still remembered the shock he felt when Richard saved him from loan sharks by beating all of them half to death… Germany had changed his friend. Blind with rage, Richard would not hold back and Darjeeling would witness it all. The cards were on the table. A final test for their love, she would see Richard's darkest depths.

The fat man fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood. By then the shock had overwhelmed him, and he simply panted in silence, too traumatized to even cry. The remaining seven guys stared in terror. What manner of monster had they awakened? Richard raised his gaze from his fallen foe and stared them, one by one, straight in the eyes. His expression was ice cold, like a glacier, but his eyes still boiled with rage and hatred as if screaming _run_ at them. That was not the gaze of a lion. That was the gaze of a demon. They were all frozen in place, sheer horror written on their faces. Only the tall boy, their leader, remained vaguely confident.

"Get him, boys!" the boss shouted. His goon friends hesitated. One of them took a step backwards then ran like a bat out of hell. The circle was broken, the young men were shaken. Richard gestured to Wellington with his head. Not a word was needed, the boy knew what to do. He grabbed Darjeeling by the hand and gently pulled her towards him. It was their chance to escape. But Richard was not about to sacrifice himself… no. Protecting them would have made his battle difficult. Their presence would have only held him back.

The boss finally abandoned all hesitation and charged. Despite their fear, his goons followed. Seven burly men attacked Richard at once, but they were too clumsy to coordinate well, so only two or three came at him at once. The tall guy was more skilled than his goons. His charge we executed well enough for Richard to have to doge without countering, but the next attacker was not so lucky. Richard moved out of his fist's way and brought his palm in the enemy's face with massive force. Shattered bones, the opponent's nose was broken, blood poured from his nostrils as he hit the ground unconscious.

From just outside the imaginary arena, Darjeeling stared in shock at how easy and without remorse Richard permanently crippled his foes. Fuel by pure rage, yet with cold precision, he broke limb after limb, painting the ground red. In less than two minutes, the less experienced member of the enemy group had been utterly broken, but Richard was beginning to slow down. Those who remained, still four burly lads, were more than capable enough to give Richard a hard time. At his peak, he could have taken them out without a sweat, but years of relaxation at Eton had softened him up. He was strong, fast and skilled, but unlike Castus, his stamina was not infinite. If the situation didn't change, fatigued would have slowed him down to the point where victory would become an impossibility.

One opponent knew Bājíquán, a Chinese martial art specialized in explosive, short-range power. He was not a master, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins, triggered by his fear, sharpened his senses. Richard had difficulty adapting to his novice elbow strikes – a master must have been a terrifying opponent to face. To win, Richard would have to abandon his pride – that was the solution he came up with. If he abandoned his defensive stance, opening himself up to hits, and instead tried to deal as much damage as possible, he could emerge victorious. Yes, that was his only chance at victory. He breathed out and in, focused his mind and…

"Dynamic entry!" a high pitched voice echoed in the park. A crimson flash passed through Richard's field of vision. Like a mighty tiger, a girl kicked through the air, landing her right leg straight on top of the Bājíquán user's face, sending him to the ground. It was Beka. Never had Richard expected to be so relieved to see her. The remaining lads stared baffled as the girl started singing. "I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire." She was even scarier than the blond boy. She looked insane with her confident grin and piercing gaze. "Cause I am a champion and you're gonna hear me roar! Louder, louder than a lion!" The girl winked at Richard. Back in Germany, together with another friend they hadn't seen in years, they were like three musketeers, know to the world as the Dragon, the Tiger and the Demon. Richard had put his past and title behind him, and Beka finally using his new animal motif meant she accepted the changed.

Few knew of Richard's past – his childhood and vigilante tendencies. Wellington grew up with him, but he only learned of his adventures in Germany later. Beka was the exact opposite. She was with him in Germany, knew nothing of the boy Wellington spent his childhood with, instead befriending the warrior of justice that lurked the night. The girl remembered when her friend braved the streets, pretending to be some sort of knight in shining armor saving and maidens in distress, protecting the downtrodden from their oppressors, to surprising success. Such were the ideals that lay deep in the boy's heart, love and altruism made him fight without end, many believed it so. But Beka knew that it was a much deeper and darker feeling that caused Richard's actions. He sought to help, that much was certain, but it was not mere salvation and protection that he wished to deliver, no. He also sought to bring justice, and, if need be, vengeance. He did not simply chase away a villain, but hunt him down and defeat him utterly, often leaving his body broken. Such was the true nature of the Yellow Haired Blue Eyed Demon.

But he had changed. The hatred in him was subdued and he returned to London, returned to his childhood friend to help him in his darkest hour. He was healed, he joined Eton and buried his past. Beka's appearance was the first time in years he was forced to remember, but she finally accepted his change. If she herself saw the lion that was reborn from the ashes of the demon, then there was nothing more tying him to the past. Without regret he could summon the monster one last time, to protect the ones he loved.

"Back-to-back badasses, eh? Just like old times," Beka grinned. A faint trace of jealousy made Darjeeling's heat skip a beat. If she didn't know better she's say the two would have made a better couple. They were surprisingly alike, Darjeeling could not deny, but she would not surrender. Beka brought out what was worse in Richard, while she aspired to bring out the best. Yes, Darjeeling would accept her beloved darker facets, but not encourage them. It was pointless to blame or judge him. What he did he did for his friends… for her. What she would not do, however, was to encourage them.

"No fucking way!" a boy cried. The lines broke – everyone ran. Even the boss sprinted as fast as he could. Back in the day, Richard would have hunted them down. He would have not rested until they were all broken. But he was no longer that man.

"Ha-ha! That was fun… Adie, call an ambulance for these poor sods." Beka put her arms behind her head and just smiled, despite the bleeding and broken enemies at her feet. "I came back to give you this!" She said, handing Richard a piece of paper. "It's my number! I figured you didn't have it."

"You know I could take it from Adrian at any time…" Richard said.

"Wellington!"

"We should hang out!" Beka said. "Bring blondie over there too! Wouldn't want her to think I wanna steal her boyfriend," the girl winked at Darjeeling. Her smile was much more innocent than usual. She looked sane for once. "I'll handle this. You lovebirds go on."

"What about Natahsa?" Wellington asked.

"Ah, Natalie can wait!"

Richard cleaned himself of blood with a paper handkerchief, then put his hand on Beka's shoulder. "Thank you, Beka…" he said. "I'll call you." Coming from Richard to Beka, that was quite the compliment. It was his way of telling the girl he owed her.

Assam sighed relived. It was finally over. She had shook the entire time, nothing but Wellington's hand to comfort her. She looked up at her boyfriend, yearning for his rare warm smile, but the boy was instead glancing at Richard, just like the last time. But this time, the glance was returned. The two were thinking the same thing. It was all too convenient to be a coincidence.

"Who knew?" Wellington asked. Richard's answer to the rhetorical question confirmed his theory. Silence. This time, they couldn't chalk it up to chance.


	32. XX System

_AN: A bit late to do this, but I should clarify that the Darjeeling I'm depicting here is mostly based on the elegant main series Darjeeling. The __Motto Love Love Sakusen Desu__ exaggeratedly quirky version is non-canon both in regard of the main series in general and my work in particular, as most things there are. One might have noticed that I have adopted some of her minor quirks, like the bad cooking and reaction to romantic situations, for humor sake, but for all intents and purposes, this is the elegant, fancy and respectable Darjeeling from the anime. I do not like how she's depicted in the spin-offs._

* * *

"I heard you had a positively thrilling morning." Monty chuckled as if he was happy about the troubles his mates had encountered. Wellington knew he was not, but still delivered a frown as response.

"This is hardly the time for humor, Monty," Wellington said. "Richard should return with the Shogun any moment. Go lie in a corner and nap or something. I need you rested for tonight's planning session."

"Don't kick me out. I've been itching to ask you a couple of things ever since Richard told me what happened."

"That was several hours ago… what kept you?" Wellington asked deadpan.

"A nap," Monty answered.

"Typical."

It was five and a half, perfect time for tea. Assam had just brought Wellington a cup of aromatic Earl Grey, accompanied with a warm smile. There was nothing that relaxed the boy more than a sip of hot Earl Grey delivered by Assam with love. She'd gotten quite good at it, almost as good as Lottie, but the lad was more than happy to endure a slight decrease in quality if it meant his girlfriend would brew it for him. It had taken both of them a while to get used to their relationship, but they could finally enjoy each other's company without the usual awkwardness.

"So, if that Beka girl is your spy in Gordost, who's your double agent?" Monty asked.  
"Who did you turn?" So that was his interest. Wellington had kept the identity of their spies a secret from everyone, just in case, but with Gordost no longer an opponent he could relax. After all, they hadn't requested information after the match. He could trust Monty with his identity without fear. "Common, I'm curious," Monty insisted, a rare occasion indeed.

Seeing that he had nothing to do until the Shogun arrived, Wellington indulged him. "A friend of mine and Gandhi's. You might have heard me talk about him. I call him Zhukov."

"The dirty commie? He's a double agent?! Wasn't he obsessed with the Soviet Union? I see why Gordost would attempt to recruit him, but that's also why he'd never work with us. How did you manage to turn him?" Monty was showing a surprising amount of interest. If Wellington learned to push his buttons, he could become much more useful. But that was a matter for another day.

"I didn't. He still thinks he's helping them," Wellington explained. "I just decide what information to feed him and his masters."

"That's devious. I like it." His questions finally answered, Monty seemed to return to his usual demeanor. He yawned and stretched his arms… So that was the extent of his concentration? "But I wouldn't call him a friend, in that case," the boy added.

"We used to be friends. Technically we still are," Wellington said. He let out a short sigh. "He's not such a bad kid, but his adoration of everything Soviet has somewhat ruined his character. Stalin is like his idol… By God, not even Gordost like Stalin. Not even Pravda. He's the only person I know who likes him." Wellington's tone reflected more disheartenment than anger. He truly lamented the near loss of his friend.

"Well, there are neo-Nazi's out there…" Monty said.

"He's not _that_ bad…" Wellington retorted. He slightly raised his voice, but stopped half-way through.

"I'm not saying he is, just that people will hold unpopular beliefs." Monty yawned again, then his face lit up. "I'm curious again, how do you control what information he leaks?"

The change of subject rekindled Wellington's enthusiasm as much as Monty's curiosity rekindled his. The prospect of delivering the equivalent of a villain monologue made him smile. Wellington enjoyed revealing his plans. "First of all, I make sure he can't access the information I don't want Gordost to gain. I'm the guy he comes to, mostly, but I make sure plans are only distributed on a need-to-know basis, just in case." Wellington chuckled a little before continuing. "Once I just casually mentioned how much I wished we had a spy in Gordost. That night he sent them a message we don't have any."

"How does he send them messages?" Monty asked.

"He always uses his email address, but I know his password."

Monty raised an eyebrow. "How did you get that without my help?" he asked skeptical. He was the only one on board who knew how to hack. The Roosevelt operation would have been impossible without him.

"I helped him with something a while back. He gave it to me, forgot about it and never changed it," Wellington chuckled. In a way, he had betrayed his friend's trust, but the truth was he didn't do it first. It was painful that their friendship had degraded to such a level. He still remembered the day Beka reported Gordost got ahold of a mole. It wasn't long until he figured out who it was – a sad day.

"What if he changes the password?" Monty asked.

"Then I have you," Wellington answered plainly.

"You've got it all figured out, don't you?" Monty said mockingly.

"I don't have the luxury of second-guessing."


	33. Enter the Shogun

_AN: Interesting fact, in case you haven't noticed, "A day out", "XX System" and "Enter the Shogun" all take place in the same day, with "Preparations", "Ups and downs" and "Revelations" taking place the day before._

* * *

"Stanfield-dono."

"Please, call me Richard."

"Very well, Richard-dono."

Eton's captain helped the girl out of the helicopter. She'd just arrived for a meeting with Wellington. Katanako Samura, the Shogun, Chi-Ha-Tan's Lady of War set foot on the Audacious for the first time. She gave off an air of feudal nobility, like a samurai of old. If a historical nickname was to be picked for her, Wellington would have surely chosen Tomoe Gozen. The girl reminded Richard of Snow White's story – skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as ebony. As they moved away from the helicopter, the girl's long hair shook under the mighty gust of the propellers. She wore it in blunt bangs, also with a ponytail. Unnecessarily complex, Richard thought, before remembering that Darjeeling and Orange Pekoe's braids weren't that simple to make either. Thankfully, he could just wear his short.

Katanako had the looks of a perfect Japanese woman. When he had first met her, Richard understood why Sharpe was so interested in Chi-Ha-Tan Academy. He hadn't gotten too far on his matchmaking objectives since he hooked up Assam and Wellington. Things between Orange Pekoe and Castus were infuriatingly difficult to progress, and there was literally nothing he could do for his cousin or Sharpe, as they both fancied girls from Ooarai, and Richard didn't have any excuses to visit the school. Perhaps the Shogun could provide an alternate distraction for his gunner's interest in traditional Japanese ladies, but there were other, more urgent matters at hand. The boy led Katanako towards Wellington's office. There was work to be done.

Darjeeling stared deeply into her tea, thinking about how lucky her girls were to get another shot at Roosevelt. The disaster with HMS Ark Royal was a painful memory, and they were extremely fortunate nobody got hurt. With the scuttling of their ship, the school was dissolved. Even if a miracle occurred and, for some reason, they were allowed to fight Roosevelt, they still had no tanks, with all of them lost in the explosion. Eton's invitation was a godsend, and Gloriana would be ever grateful for such generosity. Darjeeling let out a short sigh and took a sip of her tea.

Wellington's office was quiet as always. The boy simply stared into his papers, in a trance, like he always did, despite having called Darjeeling himself. When she arrived, Monty took the opportunity to leave the room, his business with Eton's commander done. The tea Wellington served her with was still hot, sign that Assam had just dropped by. Darjeeling hoped that Pekoe would too, one day, find someone for herself, be it Castus or someone else.

"Sorry to keep you, I had to finish this," Wellington finally spoke. He put his papers aside and turned his attention to his guest. "I was hoping we'd get another batch of Comets before the finals, especially now that we figured out the 77mm is much better. I still can't believe what a sloppy mistake we've made overestimating the 17 pounder." Darjeeling smiled brightly, patiently waiting to find out why she had been called. "Gordost would have completely annihilated us head on… but I digress. I want you to talk to the Federation and see if we may field the Centurions. If Roosevelt uses those experimental Ts that haven't seen battle, we should be able to field Cents too."

"Oh, jolly good! I want to lead their squadron!" Darjeeling exclaimed. The good news proved the wait to be worth it.

"Oh, I'm not sure we'll actually field them," Wellington said. "The frontal armour on the hull is pretty good, even against U.S. 76mm and 90mm guns, but the Mark II we have has the 17 pounder… which I just said I am very disappointed in."

"Then why bother asking permission?" Darjeeling asked.

"Just in case," Wellington said. His calm expression was suddenly clouded by a frown. "As well as an experiment… to see how much influence Roosevelt has on the Federation…" Wellington still despised the judges who allowed Kuromorimine field a Maus, even if Eton humiliated them by taking it out without breaking a sweat. He feared that Roosevelt managed to acquire a position of favour too, given their permission to use such experimental U.S. tanks.

A few knocks on the door, Richard showed Katanako in. Darjeeling finally understood why the room was tidier than usual. It was the first time she saw Wellington's desk almost empty. Katanako walked in with confidence, Richard following her with a smile. Darjeeling and Wellington stood up.

"Ah, Miss Samura, welcome," Wellington said.

"Wellington-dono, Darjeeling-dono, your reputations precede you. It is an honour to meet you." The girl bowed her head with respect. Darjeeling was flattered, but Wellington was more interested in the Shogun's expertise than her compliments, even if meeting someone who respected rather than blamed him for his ways was refreshing.

"I am certain you would have made quite the name for yourself had you not been forced to face those bloody yanks in the first match," Wellington said. He was surprisingly talkative and enthusiastic. "I swear, the Federation has no concept of fair play."

"A true warrior is able to overcome adversity against any odds, Wellington-dono, as have you."

"I'm afraid not even I would have been able to defeat opponents such as Gordost and Roosevelt in the first rounds. As you might know, our school has been like the Royal Air Force during the Battle of Britain, we've been building up our arsenal as we went. You, unfortunately, haven't been given such a chance."

Seeing that she and Richard were of no use to the conversation, Darjeeling took her leave. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Samura-san, but Richard and I have Federation negotiations to undertake," Darjeeling said. She gestured at Richard to follow her and moved for the door.

"Katyusha sends her regards," Richard said and winked. "Peter was there too. I swear, he and Nonna are pretty obvious. I'm not sure how Katyusha hasn't realized it yet."

"Probably too busy to run away from Ivan," Wellington retorted.

"Unfortunately, she didn't have anything of note to say," Richard sighed. Wellington nodded. "Well then, I'll leave you at it. You have strategy to discuss and all that, and I have to negotiate with the Federation… apparently." Richard gave Darjeeling an inquisitive look. "Oh, but do try and finish by eight, I owe her a kendo rematch."

Wellington's eyes grew wide. "You beat the Shogun at kendo?!"

"He cheated," the girl defended.

"It wasn't an official match, so I employed other martial arts," Richard said. "But don't worry, I won't use any more next time. I'm curious if I can handle you."

"I doubt," Katanako said. "However, I do look forward to facing your two sword, nitou style, in a more orthodox match."

"Do you mind if I join?" Darjeeling asked. "Richard has taught me a few things." Wellington wondered if she was getting jealous… but she was probably just getting bored.

"Not at all. Kendo is open to all students," Katanako answered solemnly.

Wellington was tapping his fingers on the desk, impatiently waiting for the conversation to end. They were along jolly well, but that's not why the Shogun was there. Then he suddenly chuckled. His impatience was smothered by the need to control his laughter, an absurd analogy having occurred to him. The three had just agreed on the swordsmanship equivalent of a threesome.

The door suddenly swung open without any preceding knock. Had Richard not blocked it with his arm, it would have hit Darjeeling right in the face. Even if he didn't wait for an answer, at least he had the courtesy to knock first, but Monty was so overwhelmed with enthusiasm that he simply burst in and without saying hello, without paying heed to the furious glare of his cousin, walked to Wellington's desk and slapped the table. "I found another guy who likes Stalin!" he cried. Luckily, Richard let it slide, took Darjeeling's hand and left the room.

"What?" Wellington asked. He and Katanako stared puzzled.

"Grover Furr, an American professor and Stalinist apologist. He even concluded that the Soviet Union did not invade Poland!" Monty said breathing heavily. Katanako started laughing at the absurdity of the statement, but Wellington, who would have normally cracked up too, was too baffled by the lack of context to react.

"Is this about our earlier conversation about Zhukov?" Wellington asked.

"Yup!" Monty nodded.

"Yes, very educative," Wellington retorted, unimpressed. "Now go, we have matters of war to discuss."

* * *

"Wellington-dono, perhaps you should choose a different approach." Katanako took a sip of the tea Assam had prepared. It was very different from the Chinese style of infusion, but it had its charm. "A Go strategy would be preferred to Chess." Wellington took great pleasure in arguing with the girl. Even his conversations with Earl Grey could not compare with the discussions he had with the Shogun. The girl was truly worthy of her title.

"You speak wisdom, Miss Samura," Wellington said. "The object of Chess is merely attrition of the opponent until the King is killed. Go is superior in the sense that it seeks to subdue the opponent without attrition, an important part of The Art of War."

"Then why did you play chess with your opponents thus far?" Katanako asked.

"Because Sensha-dou is essentially just that – attrition. Either take down as many enemy tanks as necessary to destroy the flag, or take them all out. It is practically impossible to avoid it. One can at best attempt to play both. Pawns had to be sacrificed to bring the enemy where I wanted him. It is in your attempt to avoid sacrifice that you have failed, Miss Samura. You tried to avoid all loss and lost everything in return." Wellington had gotten too worked up in his discourse. He had seen her match against Roosevelt countless times. Indeed, the Shogun's style empathized the preservation of her forces, but her reasons for doing so were not necessarily based on foolish idealism as much as an attempt to preserve numerical superiority. Unfortunately, the attempt had failed and Chi-Ha-Tan had been crushed.

"You are eager to sacrifice your tanks," Katanako retorted. "You are, perhaps, more similar to Napoleon in that matter, than Arthur Wellesley." Wellington shrugged. He didn't like being compared to Napoleon, but the girl made a fine point under the circumstances. Unfortunately for her, she was wrong.

"As astute observation, however while Napoleon did not care for the lives of his men, I do," Wellington said. "The only reason I sacrifice tanks is because I know the crew won't die in the process. Had this been real war, I would have done as Sun Tzu advised and Wellesley practiced: avoid the battles I cannot win, rather than exchange men for victory, like Napoleon and Clausewitz. I assure you, I very much prefer the path of water, to avoid the heights and hasten towards the lowlands, as an army avoids strength and strikes weakness…" Wellington explained. He paused for a moment and looked the girl straight in the eyes. "But I don't exactly have the luxury of picking my fight in an official tournament."

"You speak sense," Katanako admitted. "I have not read Clausewitz, however."

"I have," Wellington said. "In the matters he agrees on with Sun Tzu, he is correct. In the matter where he does not, he fails, not because he is incorrect per se, but because he elects to sacrifice too much. He is a supporter of total war and massive, bloody battles."

"Then I shall not read his book." Katanako dismissed without a second thought.

"You should, even if only to know his style and disagree. The man himself is not a fool. The political and economic context in which Sun Tzu and Clausewitz lived were very different, hence their difference in ideology. But we digress." Wellington leaned on the backrest of his armchair and rubbed his forehead. "As enjoyable as discussing this may be, we have more pressing matters to approach. Tell me… what impression did Roosevelt leave you?"

"I cannot compare, for I have not faced many others," Katanako said, "but their commander is exceedingly competent."

"From what I understand, Top did not exactly radiate tactical brilliance, but I must admit their manoeuvres were impressive. I suppose there is someone else behind them." Wellington leaned on the desk.

"Top is merely their captain, same as Richard-dono is yours. They have a separate commander, one Jack Drake," Katanako explained.

"I have heard of him," Wellington said. Drake was an opponent he faced during a chess tournament, some years before. The prospect of challenging him again would have been pleasant if not given the circumstances. The stakes were too high to rush forward and face such a capable enemy. "A British born American, immigrated to the states with his parents."

"I have heard…" Katanako said.

Wellington folded his hands, as if in prayer, and rested his chin on them. "This will be a troublesome match…"

The conversation continued for a few hours. They discussed in depth the tactics used by Roosevelt and Katanako's impression of the school, but it wasn't all as productive as Wellington would have hoped. Regardless, the few notes he did take were worthwhile, having saved him one or two days of research. By the end of their talk, things had gotten much more informal. It was getting late, and the girl still had a duel to fight.

"You are a rude individual," Katanako said. "But I do hope that you shall defeat Roosevelt." She gave Wellington a warm smile.

"Aren't you going to compare me to Wellesley again?" the boy asked. "He also spoke clearly and to the point, without hiding unpleasant truths and was considered rude for it."

Katanako chuckled. "Perhaps we should meet again after the finals. I may not be as erudite in the Napoleonic Era as I am in the Sengoku Jidai, but I do find comparing you to Wellesley to be enjoyable. I shall read on the subject to give you an even more educated opinion next time."

"I wouldn't mind that." Wellington smiled faintly.

"But please, do get rid of the Napoleonic vices you have. I believe that a more honourable demeanour would improve your character. As it is, you come off a bit Machiavellian." The same cursed comparison still haunted the boy. Once more he told himself it was all worth it. One more match and the judging would stop, he hoped.

"I have already told you: only in Sensha-dou," Wellington insisted. "I do believe in honour. But honour for its own sake is pointless."

"You are a very interesting individual, Wellington-dono. Had you been more romantic, I believe you would have stolen even more hearts than Richard-dono."

"I'm sorry, milady," Wellington said amused, "but I am only romantic with one person."


	34. RECAP 3 - Deleted Scenes

_AN: So, why not have some deleted scenes, for fun sake. These were abandoned for various reasons, and most of them shouldn't be considered part of LGuP canon. Some of them don't have dialogue tags because they were in ALPHA version when I dropped them. Most other are in BETA._

* * *

_Commentary: This can be considered canon, more or less, I just didn't find a place to put it. After I started it I realized the density of the information was too low and it wasn't worth finishing, but it does shed some light on what video games characters play._

"So, does anybody here play video games?" asked Ryuu.

"I play racing games… and poker… does poker count?" said Richard.

"I play solitaire," said Castus.

"I play sniper simulators," Sharpe added.

"Grand Strategy Games and Real Time Strategy Games," Wellington said.

* * *

"Gentlemen, you are by far the most British students I have ever met…" Darjeeling said.

"We _are_ British…" Wellington retorted.

"Therefore, I hear by offer you honorary membership in the Tea Garden."

"You honor us. We accept," said Richard without a second thought.

"What? Don't drag me into this," Wellington whispered to his friend. "I don't care how much you want to get close to Darjeeling, I won't–"

"Relax, mate. What do we lose by accepting? Besides, you might get close to Assam," Richard teasingly winked.

"Just because I laughed at her jokes doesn't mean I'm interested in a relationship."

"Doesn't have to be love at first sight."

"Well, it is settled then. I have already discussed it with the other members. You shall receive soul names. They are not as formal as ours are and you need not abandon your own names, but bear them with pride."

"Great… now I'm an honorary member of a group that strives to be like I already am…" Wellington grumbled. "It's like being the fan of my own fan club."

"You arrogant bastard," Richard whispered, his smile unaffected.

"You, Sir Wellington, I dub _Nilgiri_, after the blend grown in the hills of the Nilgiris district of Tamil Nadu, a dark, intensely aromatic, fragrant and flavored tea!"

"Great…" Wellington said, then noticed Assam's saddened face. "You honor me!" he quickly corrected.

"You, Sir Castus, I dub _Masala Chai_, after the blend of black tea with a mixture of aromatic Indian spices and herbs!" Castus took a bow, but otherwise remained silent. "Sir Montgomery," Darjeeling turned to Monty. "I dub you _Ceylon_, after the famous Sri Lankan blend."

_Commentary: I dropped this for several reasons, most importantly because Richard would have had to bear the title of Earl Grey... that was already used by, well, Earl Grey, and I wanted to change Earl Grey to Lady Grey, but, well, it would have complicated things unnecessarily, so I decided just to drop the whole thing. This is NON-CANON. Sharpe would have had the title of Prince of Wales._

* * *

_Commentary: This is a deleted scene from the _Relationship Counseling _chapter. After writing it, I realized that Richard would have known what Wellington told him and Earl Grey would have been aware of his relationship with Darjeeling, so the part of this conversation didn't really make sense. For example: Richard realized right away why Earl Grey didn't like him._

"I never manage go get a hang of her," Richard interrupted.

"I thought you're supposed to shut up and listen," Wellington said. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to tell you this, but she doesn't really like you. I think she's avoided you because she thought you'd be hitting on her. But don't worry, I cleared it up with her last time. I told her you gave up."

"I think you should have asked me first."

"Hey, look at the bright side, she might accept your calls now."

"So, did she tell you why exactly she didn't like me?"

"Something about you being superficial in your adoration of modern luxuries and tiresome in your obsession with perfection. I can relate to the last part."

"Hmm… makes sense." Richard rubbed his chin. "OK, moving on. What bothers you?"

* * *

_Commentary: This was part of a subplot about Eton boys going to Ooarai, but then I just decided it was stupid and only had Heinz and his team move. This lacks dialogue tags, but the first part is a conversation between Wellington and Richard and the second between Wellington, Richard and Monty._

"Richard, we need to do something."

"About?"

"Desertion. Apparently, for some reason, Ooarai has proved to have quite the effect on our crews."

"Beg your pardon?"

"For some reason, every one of our lads falls in love with some lass from that school. It's bloody uncanny."

"Oh, that. Well, you should have thought about it before they stole Heinz from us."

"Never mind Heinz. He would have been a lost cause. It was inevitable. Nothing would have stood between him and that blonde lass. He's bloody straightforward, unlike our timid lads."

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk!"

"Any suggestions? You're the romantic!"

"No idea."

[...]

"I still don't understand why Ooarai has such a pull on our lads…" (Wellington)

"They're the underdog, they're underfunded but rapidly growing… and they have a ton of cute girls." (Richard)

"But St. Gloriana has brought a flux of cute girls here as well." (Wellington)

"Not really. Only the higher class transferred to Eton. The rest chose other schools. The problem here is that our cockneys don't all want girls with class and elegance, and ironically, Ooarai is the closes source of more accessible girls. A lot of girls from Gloriana transferred there, not that they didn't already have a nice number." (Richard)

"So you're telling me they're running to Ooarai because of girls?" (Monty)

"Oh, you're to talk. I've seen how you behave around that sleepy Ooarai lass." (Wellington)

"Don't get me wrong. I just want to use her as my teddy bear… Oh my, did I say that out loud?" (Monty)

* * *

_Commentary: And finally, here's something I cut from the latest chapter, _Enter the Shogun_. This could be considered canon, but I'll probably not put it in, because it doesn't bring much in the way of info._

"The Shogun was here?! Why didn't you tell me?!" (Sharpe)

"I thought you were hitting on that Hana girl from Ooarai." (Wellington)

"Yeah, well things haven't been going too well… even if I do have more excuses to visit the school now that Heinz is there–" (Sharpe)

'Ha-ha, you gave yourself away," said Richard.

"Don't worry. We all knew already. It's pretty obvious." (Wellington)

"Castus too?" (Sharpe)

"Yes." (Wellington)


	35. A Friendly Match, Part 1

Katanako held her bamboo sword with both hands, right above her head, ready to strike. Richard instead wielded two _shinai_, a completely different style. Wellington sighed. He felt that Richard had chosen that style simply because it looked cool, although his previous victory did earn him some plausibility. Perhaps there was more to it than he thought. _Nitou_ against _Ittou_, the boy had read about them out of curiosity, but he only knew that the first style used two swords while the second used one… he couldn't be bothered to learn more.

Darjeeling stood just outside the arena, drinking some tea, a spectator to their match. Katanako struck. She brought down he _shinai_ with a mighty downward swing, but Richard easily deflected it with his right sword and thrust his left one towards the girl. Katanako jumped back, avoiding the thrust. Wellington noticed that they weren't dressed in the normal protective armor people wore during Kendo matches… wasn't that dangerous?

Katanako's hair shook as she swung her blade. An obvious weakness – in real battle, the opponent could grab it and pull her to the ground. She struck once more. She was on the offensive, while Richard could only do his best to defend. Not being able to use other martial arts was quite a handicap for him. Katanako slashed with the bamboo sword, but Richard blocked. She then spun to strike again, inadvertently hitting Richard in the face with her hair. The gentle brush on his face made the boy lose balance, not enough to trip, but enough to leave him open. A hit. Katanako's sword hit Richard's torso.

"Touché," Richard said.

"One nil," Katanako added. "Again."

Two out of three, Wellington thought. That was how kendo matches were scored, or so he understood. His knowledge of them was rudimentary at best. He walked to Darjeeling's table and sat down. The girl seemed entranced by the match. Whenever Richard would come close to a hit she would flinch a little bit… she was silently rooting for him. Wellington didn't want to distract her. He poured himself a cup of tea and breathed in the flavor.

"One equal," Katanako said. Wellington looked up. He missed the hit, but it appeared Richard had just scored. Wellington was starting to lose his patience. How long would the match last? He took another sip of the tea and looked into his smartphone. Heinz had answered Wellington's call – he was more than glad to lend a hand. Between him, Monty and Darjeeling, Wellington had planning covered. It was a pity Assam was not yet ready, but perhaps she could provide some valuable opinions.

"Touché," Richard said. Wellington raised his eyes. Did he win?

"Two one, a good match," Katanako said with satisfaction. Victory was hers – she had regained her honor.

Wellington sighed relieved that it was finally over – the result mattered not to him – he could at last speak his mind. He got up and walked towards the victor. "Miss Samura, I have a proposition," the boy said. "How would you like Chi-Ha-Tan and Eton have a practice match?"

* * *

"Don't you at least want me to tell you what tanks I've seen when I was there?" Richard asked. He stared at his friend baffled. Wellington had never been so uninterested in his opponent. What happened with 'know thy enemy and know thyself'?

"I don't care… I don't even know what tanks the Japanese had during the war, let alone which one of those Chi-Ha-Tan has, but I don't care," Wellington said.

"How come?" Richard asked, leaning on the table, staring down his friend with massive curiosity.

"You wouldn't know, would you… since this is our first friendly match," Wellington said. He let out a short sigh and continued. "There are no stakes here. I don't care if we win or lose. The outcome is not important," the boy explained. "Quite the opposite, actually. If we lose, chances are Roosevelt will underestimate us further. Important here is the warm up, and with no one filming it, we don't even have to worry that Roosevelt will see how much our crews have improved."

Richard stood back up and gave his friend a long look. Before he left for Germany, he and Adrian used to hang out a lot. They played all sorts of games and had all sorts of contests, some of which he would inevitably win, others at which Wellington was clearly superior. Richard would always claim victory at card games, and anything that required luck, making his friend curse his bad fortune, but the truth was that Richard was a much better judge of character and would easily read his opponent's reactions. It took a very long time until Wellington became truly unpredictable, but by then they'd ceased playing cards. At chess, strategy games and the like, it was instead Adrian who'd constantly win. Most of the time, at the end of the day, they'd prove equally matched, their overall score the same, but on the rare occasions, one of them would win. Defeat always ruined the whole day for Wellington. The boy hated it far more than he loved victory. To make up for the terrible feeling of one loss, he had to win five times. Luckily, with more than nine tenths of their contests ending in draw, he was content. Richard knew that, but he never once considered going easy on his friend. After all, it already took all his strength to keep up a chain of draws. Holding back was not a luxury he could afford.

Rarely did the two boys compete after Richard returned from Germany, and joining Eton further busied their program, so Richard never noticed, but his friend had grown up. Ironically, it meant that now Wellington was less obsessed with victory than he was. While his friend grew out of it, Richard did not. His time in Germany had made him very aggressive, but he never showed it to his close friends. Luckily, the Shogun wasn't someone he hated losing to that much, but if Roosevelt won the tournament, he would go on a rampage.

Richard chuckled. Wellington looked at him confused. "It's a pity those who despise your ways will never hear of this," Richard explained. "I bet they'd all change their opinions of you."

"I don't care about their opinion. So long as I have my friends on my side, I need nothing more," Wellington said.

"See, Adrian? That's why you're my best friend."

"Wellington!"


	36. A Friendly Match, Part 2

"What the bloody hell?! Bloody barbarians!" Wellington shouted. An enemy tank had just literally rammed them. After chasing the Shogun around for almost an hour, the girl finally struck, just not in the way Wellington expected. More than half of her tanks charged Eton's squadron. The unexpected maneuver caught the boys off guard, leaving them utterly confused. Many of the light Chi-Ha-Tan vehicles drove in front of Eton's tanks, immobilizing them, or hit them in the sides. Panicked, some of the drivers crashed into each other. Most of the enemy tanks broke down during or shortly after the crash, and the ones that didn't could be easily taken out, but the resulting jam meant the Eton was a sitting duck.

"We have regained our honor!" the Chi-Ha-Tan commander cried. _"Shogun Banzai!"_

"By God, they have a completely different definition of honor than us," Wellington cried.

"Didn't expect this, did you?" Sharpe asked from the gunner's seat, chuckling. "Thought it would all be like a pistol duel among gentlemen? Ha-ha! We're not fighting the Imperial Japanese Navy, mate. We're fighting the army." Sharpe was right. Unlike the navy that believed in decisive, single sword stroke battles, like a duel between two katana wielding samurai, the army was not beyond calling for suicidal charges.

"Shut up and shoot!" Wellington ordered. There was no time for hesitation. He took a deep breath and focused. "Everybody close the hatches!" It was ill advised to keep your head up during a battle, but the boy would not comply with his own orders. He had to coordinate the squadron and good situational awareness was of utmost importance. When the enemy finally started firing he would have to tell everyone where to shoot. A part of him thought it was a dumb thing to do. He was more valuable than the other tank commanders – he should have used someone else as spotter – but he couldn't bear seeing his lads hurt. Besides, he had a feeling that if he kept his head up, Katanako would not shoot at his tank.

With a thunderous roar, the last operational Kamikaze was take out by one of the Eton guns. Wellington didn't even have to give the order, the other commanders had quickly recovered from their confusion and directed their crews to effectively take out the survivors even with the hatches down. But the easy part was over. The rest of Chi-Ha-Tan would descend upon them at any moment.

Wellington was aware that he could not say anything with confidence about the Shogun after watching only one of her battles. He was uncertain whether it was idealism or strategy that influenced her low sacrifice style, although he leaned towards the latter. But now he knew. She had preserved her forces waiting for the ideal moment to strike. Because he had relaxed during the so-called friendly match, the girl ran them around in circles then led them into an ambush. So, after all, the girl's opposition to his style of command was not based on a difference in ideals, but on a difference in tactics.

"Of course!" Katanako confirmed. Wellington took a sip of his tea. With the battle over, the two retreated to discuss the aftermath. Even with their squadron ambushed, Eton still won the match… albeit by the skin of their teeth. His boys had come a long way. Before, their lack of skill led to losses of otherwise tactically advantageous battles, but now they could turn the table and win when at a disadvantage. Katanako smiled at the one who defeated her. Eton truly stood a chance against Roosevelt. "I thought we both understood that."

"I was unsure whether ideals played an important role in you decisions…" Wellington admitted.

"Oh…" the girl looked a bit confused. "Well, Wellington-dono… I seek to preserve my forces both because I do not like needless sacrifice and because I like having numerical superiority. Even in the battle against Roosevelt, I was attempting to do the same thing I did with you, but they destroyed us too soon." Katanako's smile turned bitter. She wanted to have a rematch, but Roosevelt cared little to face her again.

"I thought as much…" Wellington said. Her strategy wouldn't have worked on him either if he had been going all out. It was a decent approach, especially with the tanks she had at her disposal, but it was too dependent on terrain and a lack of attention on the opponent's side.

"So it is not merely ideals, and it is not merely tactics that shape my style," the girl continued. "It is both," she said clearly and with confidence. "I have never believed our ideologies to be different, and our conversation confirmed my opinion of you. I am glad to know that you, just like me, care for your crews and do not wish to see them sacrificed for nothing."

"At first I thought you were some kind of incurable idealist who would blame me for my ruthless tactics," Wellington muttered. "Although why you complimented me would have been a mystery if that were the case."

"I have to admit that I found some of your plans… distasteful…" Katanako added half-heartedly. "As I said, I believe that a more honorable and non-Machiavellian demeanor would improve your character, but even if I did not agree with everything you did, that does not change the fact that you are worthy of respect," she said, regaining her smile and confidence half through.

"When I will have the luxury of winning without trickery I will follow your advice," Wellington said. He let out a short sigh, his curse weighing heavily on his heart. "So, you thought I was too quick to sacrifice my tanks? You were opposed to my plans?"

"I find nothing fundamentally wrong in sacrificing your tanks. After all, it is just as you said, this is not war, they do not die," the girl explained. "But as I said before, you played game of chess, exchanging pieces ineffectively when you should have played Go, outmaneuvering, surrounding and taking out the enemy with a single blow." She talked about her style with utmost enthusiasm. In that matter Wellington found her similar to himself. "I felt both that you sacrificed for pointless objectives with an ease that probably made some people wonder whether you enjoy it," Katanako added.

"By God, you thought I took pleasure in seeing my tanks taken out?" Wellington's shock was plainly visible in his gape.

"Not me, no!" the girl corrected. "I told you I had faith in you from the start!" Her statement was delivered with such fervor that it made it sound like a confession. The boy wondered how it would look to Assam if she entered the room at that point. "But I am certain that to many you come off as too cold and uncaring."

"I know that too well…" Wellington mumbled. "But you misunderstand. All the sacrifices I've made, they were not part of the plan. I never sent my tanks on suicidal charges. Even the riskiest mission I assigned had a chance of success," the boy explained, each word louder than the other. "I didn't plan to lose an entire squadron as bait to Kuromorimine. They were expected to return! It was their lack of skill that caused their downfall, not my plans – although I am still accountable for not taking that into account. But you, Shogun, you have your girls charge like Kamikaze. That's insane!"

The girl was taken aback by the boy's accusation. "I thought we agreed, this is not real war," the girl defended. "I obviously would never do it if it was and I take no pleasure in it."

"I'm sorry," Wellington apologized, his head having finally cooled down. "I meant no disrespect. Your tactics are just as unconventional as mine are, or even more so, but they are effective and highly unpredictable. Surprise is how I won so far, so I can't exactly blame you." Perhaps if Chi-Ha-Tan had more time to shine, it would have been the Shogun who was considered ruthless, not him. Or maybe not – nobody could beat his mud avalanche. Even he had to admit that was crossing the line – a million things could have gone wrong – but there was no other way to win and defeat was not acceptable. Too many things were at stake… his oath, his future. Defeat was not an option.

Silence filled the room. Wellington took another sip of his tea. Katanako did the same. "For what it's worth," the girl said, "I hope you win the tournament. I find you to be much more likable than Roosevelt."

"Thank you," Wellington said. "I believe the lessons you have taught me will be of great use."

"I have learned much from you as well, Wellington-dono. I hope to do this again another day."

"The fight, or the talk?" Wellington chuckled.

"Both!" The girl stood up and took a bow. "On behalf of Chi-Ha-Tan, I humbly thank you for you hospitality," Katanako said. "Fighting Eton was an honor!"


	37. Memories, Part 1 - The Sea of Okhotsk

_Sea of Okhotsk, two weeks before the beginning of the 63rd National Sensha-Dou Tournament_

The helicopter's blades stirred the cold wind as it landed, pushing the otherwise calm snow into a tornado of white flakes. Movement in the distanced betrayed just how many students where outdoors despite the freezing weather. You had to tolerate the cold if you joined Gordost – just like Pravda, the school always stayed up north, but Gordost ventured even farther, into the chilly Sea of Okhotsk.

Gordost was not a famous school in traditional Sensha-dou. They were one of the newcomers in the National Tournament, since it had only been recently opened for boys and Gordost was a mixed school. Chosen to take part in the Tournament with two other boy schools when Blue Division, Koala Forest and Viking Marine were eliminated in the preliminaries, they would become famous for utterly crushing Anzio and, more surprisingly, Saunders. In the following weeks, they would make a name for themselves before being eliminated by Eton in the semi-finals, their winning streak ending with a bang, allowing their British adversaries nothing more than a pyrrhic victory. But the battle that would gain them fame and shock the Sensha-dou world, their clash against Saunders during the first round of the tournament, was still some time away, and they had other issues to solve for the moment… issues of unity.

The helicopter landed and the students from Ooarai were greeted by a girl that reminded Miho of Nonna. She had her body, for sure – there weren't too many girls that could pride themselves with such large breast – but also had short blonde hair, blue eyes and the warmest smile to accompany them.

"_Zdravstvuyte_, I am Sofia Saburov," she said with the voice of an angel. Warming Miho up inside, she could only smile in return. "You must be Nishi… zumi-san, Kawashima-san and Ko… yama-san," Sofia struggled to pronounce their names. "In name of _Nochnye Vedmy_, welcome to _Admiral Flota Sovetskovo Soyuza Kuznetsov_."

"Huh?" Momo raised an eyebrow...

"That is the ship name, Momo-chan," Yuzu said.

"Don't call me that!" Momo hissed.

Ooarai was looking for a replacement for Duck Team's Type 89 I-Go and Gordot's Night Witches had plenty of BT tanks lying around. There were mere weeks before the first round in the 63rd National Sensha-Dou Tournament and they had to upgrade their arsenal as fast as possible. Ooarai still had issues with funds, but things were slowly getting better. Once they replaced the pathetically obsolete Type 89 with the, still obsolete, but not pathetically so, BT-7M Gordost had for sale, they'd be one step closer to having a decent line-up.

"Oi, Sophie! Don't use hard words with the guests, _co kurwa_?!" A red haired girl that cursed in Polish but called Sofia's name in French appeared out of nowhere. She didn't even introduce herself and started waving at the group to follow her. "Come! Natalie is waiting!"

"Oh, we mustn't keep Natashenka waiting," Sofia admitted. "Let's go."

The two girls lead the group towards one of Gordost's hangars. They were both very different from each other. Sofia kept smiling warmly all the way, her walk and general demeanour was very composed. She reminded Miho of Hana in that regard. The other girl was quite the opposite, her perpetual grin and relaxed stride giving away a confident but laid back attitude.

"Are you Polish? Miss…" Miho asked out of curiosity.

"Beka! Nice to meet you!" the girl cried. "I'm not. I speak English, German, Chinese and Japanese, but the only word I know in Polish is 'kurwa' and its derivatives," Beka explained, then stuck her tongue out in a silly manner.

"We're almost there," Sofia said. The cold wind of the north swept over the students. To everyone in Gordost it wasn't hard to bear, but Miho started trembling. She had underestimated the weather.

"Took you long enough!" When they finally reached the hangars, Natasha was waiting for them, impatiently tapping her foot as the cold wind blew through her long platinum hair. By her side, a huge boy started into the distance, as if unaware of anyone's presence. He looked taller than anyone Miho had seen before. Awakened by Natasha's voice, he gave the guests a long look. She hadn't interacted with them at Eton's ball, but from what Miho remembered, the boy fit the description of either Peter or Ivan.

"They're so cute!" the boy cried. The statement took Miho aback – it wasn't exactly the welcome she anticipated – but at least she could say with certainty that it wasn't Peter Saburov. In a single move, Ivan took Miho, lifted her into the air and swung her around like a doll. Confused and cold, the girl didn't even fight back.

"Vanya, put the guests down, please!" Sofia commanded.

Miho sneezed. "Oh, they're cold!" The boy embraced her completely, like a papa bear hugging his young to keep her warm. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but for better or worse, Miho's blue face relaxed, and her chattering teeth stopped.

"Thank you!" she said nervously, more out of politeness than gratitude. The boy smiled and put her down.

"_Dobro pozhalovat!_" Then the boy turned to Momo and lifted her too into the air.

"Put me down!" she ordered angrily. Despite freezing, she would not be treated like a teddy bear by that brute. He instantly complied, then hid behind his big sister Sofia.

"_Starshaya sestra _Sofia, that one's mean," he moaned. "She's not like the other one."

"Now, Vanya, go to your brother. We'll handle the guests," Sofia said.

"Da, _sestra!_" Vanya said, and walked away, not turning his back on the group, as if afraid Momo would attack him if he turned around. Walking backwards like he did, Vanya didn't see a fellow student, who was himself focused on reading something, so the two clumsily crashed into each other. "_Suka! _Watch where you're going!" Everyone flinched. It was still Vanya's voice, but it was much scarier, charged with an anger that chilled you to the bone... Ivan lifted the fellow student boy in the air. He found it just as easy to lift someone heavy as he did a girl... leaving Miho wonder just how strong he was.

"_Izvinite, tovarish! Izvinte!_" the lifted boy apologized.

"Vanya, put him down!" Sofia ordered.

"Da, _sestra_..." the boy said unsatisfied, pouting like a petulant child, and complied. "Run, _suka!_" he snapped one last time, and the boy ran. Ivan was a very strange boy. The next thing Miho noticed was that Natasha was giving Momo a threatening glare, perhaps mad at her for snapping at her brother. All the Saburovs were very strange people.

"Natasha, why is Ooarai here?" While everyone was distracted by the whole Vanya debacle, another boy had quietly entered the scene. His voice was different, but he looked exactly like Vanya. Miho remembered that the Saburov brothers were actually twins, not just looked similar. On closer inspection, the new boy had a much sharper gaze and radiated more confidence.

"They are our guests, Petya," Sofia explained.

"Whatever. Welcome to Gordost." Peter quickly nodded his head in greeting then turned his attention to his younger sister.

"So, _bolshoy brat_, what brings you here?" Natasha asked coldly.

"You should pay more respect to your older brother, Natasha," the boy retorted. Unlike his twin brother and his sisters, Peter spoke with less of a Russian accent and used fewer Russian words.

"We're negotiating the sale of a BT, Petya," Sofia said, attempting to defuse the situation as if it were a bomb. The girl seemed to be the only sane sibling and had to put up with everyone else's fits.

"This is not why I'm here," Peter said. "Natasha–"

"No!" the girl interrupted.

"I didn't even–"

"No!" the girl interrupted again. "I won't do anything for you, _bolshoy brat_."

"_Gospodi_, Natasha! It's been a year! The tournament is coming! Stop this nonsense!"

"The witches will not serve you! Hmp." Natasha crossed her arms and looked away.

Peter sighed. "This is neither the place nor the time. We'll finish this another day. My apologies," Peter said to the Ooarai girls. "These are Saburov family matters. I didn't want to bother you with them." The boy bowed his head and left. Natasha followed him with her gaze, almost pleading, as if when she chased him away with her words she meant the exact opposite... those looked like the eyes of a maiden in love.

"Did Ooarai sent spies?" Katyusha's voice echoed through the courtyard in front of the hangar. Behind her, Nonna followed stoic as always.

"Ah, Katyusha, Nonna, they are here to purchase a BT," Sofia politely explained.

"They're not spies?" Katyusha asked. "Of course they're not! Ooarai wouldn't dare send spies when Katyusha is visiting! How are you, Pirozhki?"

"I'm good, Katyusha-san," Miho replied. "How are you?"

"Look who we got here." As if magnetically attracted by the two girls' appearance, Peter returned at a brisk pace. "Ivan was looking for you, Katyusha," the boy said with a mischievous smile.

"Huh?!" Katyusha suddenly hid behind Nonna like a shy child would behind her mother. "No! He'll pinch my cheeks again!"

"Nonna, it's good to see you again," Peter said, smiling at Nonna as she smiled back.

"Good to see you too, tovarish," Nonna nodded.

"Katyusha!" the voice of Ivan filled the silence.

"Dermo!" Katyusha cried and started running.

"Don't run! I just want to pinch your cheeks! You're so cute, Katyusha!" Ivan started running after the girl and they both ran around in circles... Peter sighed and put his palm on his face.

"So, can we see the BT?" Yuzu asked Sofia, who was unfortunately too focused on Ivan to pay attention. She seemed concerned for some reason.

"You're wasting your time, girls," Peter said.

"Excuse me?" Miho asked confused.

"You stand no chance this year," Peter declared. He chuckled, but the girls seemed confused, so he continued. "Girl schools have varying degrees of experience, with Pravda, Gloriana and KMM at the top, but not that much talent. You haven't watched any private tournaments? That's where the money and talent is at." Gordost was a newcomer, that much was true, so was Roosevelt, but to call them weak was foolhardy. Both schools had taken part in numerous private tournaments the previous years that, while not as popular in Japan as the National Tournament, had big corporate money and interest invested into them. "It was a mistake to open up the National Tournament to schools like us, because now…" the boy's smile turned into a grin, then vanished, replaced by an arrogantly threatening glare. "We will bury you."


	38. Memories, Part 2 - History Club

Heinz entered the clubroom the history buffs used. He had just returned from a meeting with _Fräulein _Nishizumi and _Fräulein Pfirsich_. That's how he called Miho and Momo. The former didn't mind, but the latter hated being called miss peach in German, even if her name meant just that in Japanese. She didn't liked being called in any but the most formal way, really. The boy thought she was no fun.

Heinz and Momo had become Miho's two vice-commanders. Momo's terrible temper made her useless in actual battle, but she could conceive good enough plans to earn her title. Heinz could only compare her to Monty, who was also a good strategist, yet bad at leading on the battlefield, albeit for different reasons. Heinz himself had been Wellington's second in command, so he was very capable both at the planning table and when commanding squadrons, but even if he felt he was better than even Miho, he couldn't steal the girl's job from her, so he settled for second in command.

The only sound in the room was from the laptop at which Erwin stared with interest. She didn't notice him at first, being completely absorbed in her activity. Heinz looked at his dear desert fox and couldn't stop a warm smile grow on his face. It was his plan to train her become a better commander, just as Wellington started training Assam. The sad truth was that she was inferior to her friend Caesar it matters of command. Irrational and rash, sharing decision making with her loader was detrimental to the team, with Hippo's best battle the one when Caesar commanded alone, but he planned to fix that. Ironically, it was fitting for her nickname, as Rommel himself had not been the genius general the historical myths depicted.

An unfamiliar song started playing, something in a foreign language Heinz didn't understand.

_"Eroi au fost, eroi sunt încă / și-or fi în neamul Românesc! / Căci rupți sunt ca din tare stâncă / Românii orișiunde cresc._

_E vița noastră făurită / De doi bărbați cu brațe tari / Și cu voința oțelită, / Cu minți deștepte, inimi mari._

_Și unu-i Decebal cel harnic / Iar celălalt Traian cel drept / Ei, pentru vatra lor amarnic / Au dat cu-atâți dușmani piept."_

Erwin finally noticed Heinz was in the room. She paused the video and greeted him flustered. "Welcome back. I was just curious about August's past..."

"Caesar put you up to this?" Heinz chuckled.

"Err… maybe…" Erwin avoided his gaze. That was a definite yes.

"_Kein problem_, dear. I'm sure he wouldn't mind answering himself," Heinz said. "It's not much to tell." The boy walked around the table and sat right next to Erwin. He put his arm over her shoulders and puller her close to him. They had been dating for a while, but Erwin still blushed. "Trajan and Decebalus were leaders of Eminescu Academy in middle school…" Heinz said. He pointed at two boys on paused video. Erwin recognized one of them as August. "Trajan moved to Eton…" the boy continued. "Changed his nickname to Augustus. The rest is history."

"What about his friend?" Erwin asked, still curious.

"Remained at Eminescu, changed his nickname to Antonescu. Last time I checked, when his school was absorbed by Anzio, he became Anchovy's second in command..." Heinz said. "And lover, if the rumours are to be believed."

"Did Eminescu dissolve because they didn't get through the preliminaries?" Erwin asked.

Heinz shook his head. "No. Even if the schools don't enter the tournament, they still receive funding if they try… they just didn't have enough."

"Such a pity…" Erwin said.

"I blame the system," Heinz added.

* * *

"…Waffle Academy put up a surprisingly good fight yesterday during the match against the incumbent champions Ooarai, using subterfuge to their advantage, but despite their efforts and they failed to win against the impressive firepower and armour of their enemies. In an interview, their captain, Nishizumi Miho, credited the victory to her girls' enthusiasm and teamwork…" Erwin smiled with pride. She loved to listen to the old radio broadcast about their victory, so she had it recorded. Ooarai had gotten off to a good start, and they were about to face Gloriana in the following days. She couldn't wait. The reporter's soft voice continued to play on the speakers…

"This marked the six match of the 64th National Sensha-Dou Tournament. To recap the previous battles, Kuromorimine has unsurprisingly defeated underdogs BC Free in the first match this season. The Nishizumi family has not commented on this victory at all.

"However, a huge surprise came from the second match of the first round. The newcomer boy school, Eton, defeated Pravda by striking during a ceasefire. When asked about the ruthless attack, Eton's commander, known only as 'Wellington', defended his choices, citing they broke no rules. Many have commented on the validity of their victory, but Federation officials said that, indeed, no rules have been broken, with the ceasefire being nothing more than informal.

"This seasons continued to be fascinating into the third match. Newcomers Gordost crushed Saunders utterly. To many, the newcomers appeared to be a no-name, but unlike Eton, their success is not unexplained. Gordost is better known outside Japan, having taken part in the private Sensha-dou tournaments in the past. When asked to comment on their victory and future matches, Peter Saburov, commander and captain of Gordost simply said: 'We will bury them.'

"In the fourth match, newly co-ed Anzio showed ingenuity and managed to defeat Yogurt in a very close battle. In an interview, Anzio captain Anchovy credited their success to the new boys and their new vice-commander.

"The fifth battle's result returned to the realm of the expected, with Saint Gloriana easily defeating Maginot. School captain and Tea Garden member Darjeeling praised Yogurt for showing great honour and fair play and hoped to face them once more in the future.

"We all await with anticipation the following battles. Ambush Division Jatkosota fights Perfect Defence Bonple next match, and the last match of this round is between Chi-Ha-Tan and a third newcomer school, Roosevelt, who are also participants in the Artemis Private Tournament, so expect from them a show of force…

"That is all on the 64th National Sensha-Dou Tournament. In other news–" The audio file playback ended. It was the broadcast about the tournament Erwin cared about, nothing else, so she didn't record anymore. She closed her laptop and turned on the radio.

"…Another extraordinary victory from Eton! Against all odds, Eton defeated nine years champions Kuromorimine in the quarter-finals using another ruthlessly unexpected and unexpectedly ruthless strategy! An avalanche of mud, nobody imagined–" noise from the door interrupted her audition. She got up and walked to the door where the rest of the history buffs had just returned from shopping. "Oi, guys, they're still talking about Eton's victory!" she cried.

"That's why you didn't come shopping?" Caesar asked.

"They're still badmouthing them, though," Erwin continued.

"Foolish! They proved ingenuity," Saemonza said, "Like Nobunaga at the Siege of Mount Hiei!"

"That was more of a massacre," Oryou mumbled.

"Like the Red Army made use of the Russian Winter, they used mother nature to their advantage!" Erwin added.

"Like Hannibal at the Battle of Lake Trasimene!" Caesar cried.

"No, that one doesn't make sense," Oryou mumbled.

"That Wellington guy is really good," Erwin said.

"Come on, Erwin, we all know it's not the Wellington guy you care about," Caesar teased, gave the girl a soft nudge and a wink. Oryou and Saemonza followed up with chuckles.

Erwin's cheeks became faintly redder, but she shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

* * *

Heinz felt Erwin flinch. She woke up and lifted her head from his shoulder. She had fallen asleep and Heinz didn't want to stop her nap. Besides, she was really cute sleeping on his shoulder so. Even if sitting frozen in that position was very uncomfortable and left him sore, it was worth it.

"What did you dream of?" Heinz asked.

Erwin stretched her arms and yawned. "The days before we fought Gloriana," she said. Melancholy washed over her. She remembered that they lost that match. "It's a pity Mr. Tiger wasn't there, maybe we would have won…" Only to be crushed by Roosevelt the following round, Erwin thought, but did not voice it.

"I'm sorry," Heinz said. "I wasn't there for you…"

"It's not your fault!" Erwin corrected. "Back then, we weren't…"

"Herr Wellington didn't even need me during the Kuromorimine match. He would have won regardless," Heinz said.

"Doesn't matter," Erwin said and snuggled up to the boy. "You're here now."


	39. Memories, Part 3 - Anzio at the ball

_AN: I need to make a clarification regarding alcoholic drinks. Legal drinking age in Japan is 20. Gordost, Eton and Roosevelt, even if predominantly foreign in many ways are still officially and formally Japanese schools, therefore their students are not allowed to drink even if over 18 (until they are 20). Depending on citizenship (for example: Richard and Wellington are both technically UK citizens, even if they study in Japan), students might be considered adults or not (in Japan a legal adult is 20 or older), but drinking is still illegal. Thus, no alcoholic drinks were served to the students during Eton's ball. As for the other references to alcohol, Wellington was joking, Gordost could not and did not get drunk on vodka at the ball, and the Heavy Tank Squadron of Gordost did not drink and drive during their battle against Eton, it was also a joke._

* * *

_AN2: Sorry for the slightly late delivery. I tried to keep up a weekly schedule but forgot to upload last night. Caught a terrible cold and it's messed me up a bit._

* * *

"Anchovy? _Hamsie? _What a strange name_…_"

"…"

"Antonescu? Anton-kun?" Anchovy's voice snapped the boy back to reality. Once more, the sound of Vivaldi's Concerto No. 1 in E major, Op. 8, "La primavera" filled his senses. They were at Eton's ball. Carpaccio had ran off to Ooarai's tables to meet some old friend and Pepperoni was on her way to get better drinks, so Antonescu and Anchovy were the only commanders left at the table.

"_Scuze_, I was remembering the first time we met," the boy said and gave her a warm smile as apology. The smile disarmed her at first, but she quickly recovered.

"I dropped a contact lens," Anchovy said. She scanned the floor trying to find them, not that she could put it back in if she did. "Help me find them." It was almost impossible to see well enough with only one lens, so the girl bent over to get a better look.

"Be careful, your panties will show," Antonescu said. Without even realizing, he delivered the line deadpan. Anchovy's cheeks turned red. She stood up and tried to slap the boy, but he caught her hand mid-strike without any effort.

"_Ahou!"_ the girl cried. Antonescu sighed. Not used to formal events, the fatigue was taking its toll – the boy didn't think through what he spoke. He didn't mean to flirt or tease, but Anchovy probably thought he intended both.

"I'm back." Pepperoni showed up empty handed. "Sorry, they wouldn't let me have any alcohol. We'll have to make do with the basic stuff."

"That's not fun," Antonescu said. "In Romania we could drink after 18. _Legi Japoneze stupide…"_

The legal drinking age in Japan was 20. Gordost, Eton and Roosevelt, even if predominantly foreign in many ways were still officially Japanese schools, therefore their students were not allowed to consume alcoholic beverages. Even people like Wellington and Richard, who were technically UK citizens and legal adults in their country, could not. Thus, no alcoholic drinks were served to the students during Eton's ball. The tables were constantly refilled with food and drinks, just not the type Antonescu liked.

"It's not the drink that matters," said Pepperoni. She grabbed Antonescu's armed and pulled him closer to her. With a cat smile, she gave him a wink. "It's the company."

Anchovy, not to be undone, grabbed the boy's other arm. "He's helping me find my contact lenses."

"You wear contact lenses?" Pepperoni asked.

"Check your drink. You probably dropped them in the glass," Antonescu said.

"Anchovy-san?" a voice grabbed the three's attention. It was Miho Nishizumi, Ooarai's commander. She had unknowingly saved Antonescu from being torn in two. The boy sighed relieved as Anchovy released his arm a bit embarrassed. Peperonni, however, was still firmly attached to him.

"Ah, the Nishizumi girl! It's good to see you," Anchovy said.

"Is this your new co-commander?" Miho asked.

"Yes! These Romanians aren't so bad," Anchovy said.

_"Bineîn__ț__eles!"_ said the boy. "After all, we committed more troops to the Eastern Front than all the other allies of Germany combined. We took back Bassarabia, Bucovina and even captured Transnistria! A pity the soviets took it all away..."

"I was referring to your boys in particular," Anchovy said.

"Ah... _mda_," the boy said.

"But I haven't introduce you," Anchovy said. She gave Pepperoni a glare, and the girl reluctantly let go of Antonescu's arm. "Miss Nishizumi, this is Antonescu. Antonescu, this is Miss Nishizumi, from Ooarai."

_"Încântat,"_ the boy said.

"Decebal!" a cry came from behind Miho.

"Trajan!" Antonescu cried back.

Miho turned around and saw a boy from Eton approaching them. She recognized him from when Eton's Historical Costumes Club introduced themselves. He was Augustus. He walked to the group, saluted everyone, and shook hands with Antonescu. "It's been too long. _Ave!_ Do you enjoy the party?"

"There is no alcohol," Antonescu said. He shook his head disappointed.

"You know the rule. Nothing we can do." Augustus patted his friend on the shoulder. "So tell me, Decebal, how is life at Anzio?"

"Ahem, I go by Antonescu now."

"And I go by Augustus."

"Trajan wasn't glamorous enough for you?" Antonescu asked.

"Decebalus wasn't Nazi enough for you?" A moment of awkward silence, then the boys both burst into laughter. They seemed so natural around each other. Anchovy had never seen Antonescu so well disposed. They started talking about all sorts of things, telling Anchovy and Pepperoni about their past feats. After a short while, Miho returned to the Ooarai tables, but the girls from Anzio were more than happy to keep listening.

"One time, we used a pincer attack on some Hungarian guys during a Tankathlon match. It was quite something to see!" Antonescu said. "We completely humiliated them!"

"Tankathlon hadn't quite caught on back then," Augustus said. "And now it's gone full circle and fallen back into obscurity."

"Don't remind me," Antonescu said. "Hey, where are the Americans from Roosevelt? Didn't you invite them?" Antonescu asked.

"They didn't come," Augustus said. "They refused our invitation... something about needing to be on the west coast for something..." Augustus explained.

"Preposterous!" Antonescu cried. _"__Yankei__ împuțiți! Cum să refuze o asemenea invitație? Ce lipsă de bun simț!"_

"Err... English, please," Anchovy said.

"Well, like _Legatus_ Wellington would put it... 'Bloody yanks!'" Augustus said.


	40. Memoreis, Part 4 - Gordost and Bonple

At Gordost's tables, Beka stood beside of a pile of exhausted boys. "Can't anyone keep up with me? Common, boys, let's dance!" No one answered the girl's invitation. No one up to the tiger's challenge. "Jean, you're a tough one. Jean?" Maybe because he didn't recognize the French version of his name, or maybe because he was too busy pinching Katyusha's cheeks, Ivan did not respond. For better or worse, Gordost's tables were very close to Pravda's. Ivan was treating Katyusha like a little doll, Peter discussed all matter of thing with Nonna, all pretences to flirt, and Natasha brooded in a corner.

"Let go of me!" Katyusha cried, but Ivan showed no sign he'd relent. The little girl's cheeks were red from all the pinching. How could the great Katyusha be humiliated so? The instant Ivan took her on top his shoulders she didn't care anymore. "Whoa, Vanya you're taller than Nonna!" The girl's eyes sparkled with childish awe as she stated the obvious. Most girls would be disarmed by a smile, or a wink, or some words said in a certain way, but Ivan had just discovered that the best way to disarm Katyusha was to pick her up and put her on your shoulders, especially if you were tall.

"And then she said something about the Russian Empire being the true motherland," Peter said and chuckled.

Nonna lips curved into a smile. Politics didn't exactly interest her, but the boy had his way with words. She kept looking Katyusha's way, more concerned about her than finding a better subject to discuss with Peter. Luckily, the girl had calmed down and seemed to enjoy the ride on Ivan's shoulders. Nonna was worried at first, but the boy seemed harmless enough. "Technically speaking, there is only one Motherland," she said. "Regardless of what party leads her government." With Katyusha's wellbeing no longer on her mind, she could give Peter her full attention.

"My thoughts exactly," Peter nodded. "But enough politics! Perhaps we can find something more interesting to discuss." Once more, Nonna smiled. Her face betrayed nothing, but she had just realized what a good judge of character her suitor was. The boy had caught on that she didn't care for the subject, despite the fact that she had actively tried to hide it. She had to be extra careful, lest he swept her off her feet. "Tell me, how come you still field the older T-34s?" Peter continued. "Surely you see the advantages of newer models."

"The older ones have their flair," Nonna said. Calm and composed, she intrigued Peter. None of the girls of Gordost had piqued his interest, but she had the beauty and character to catch his eye. His younger sister would prove to be a problem, and he had to navigate difficult straights ahead if he wanted to enter a relationship, but the first steps were made and things looked promising.

"Well, against Kuromorimine's devilish cats, I'd recommend something stronger than the 76mm. You should come by our place. I'd be more than happy to show you our arsenal and give you a taste of the Soviet Union's best war machines."

"That is very kind of you," Nonna said. "I'd love to."

Meanwhile, Beka was disheartened that nobody paid any attention to her, but she still had the comfort of one thought. Even if they ran out of energy by the end, the exhausted boys had at least tried, and that was commendable. Beka was just as popular with the boys at Gordost as Natasha and Sofia, but unlike them, she seemed available, even if anyone who tried to win her heart inevitably failed. Nobody dared approach the Saburov sisters. Natasha always shot down every potential boyfriend, and Sofia was too often around Ivan, who was feared by most boys. Beka, on the other side, was much more approachable, even if every single boy that ever tried to go out with her ended up either scared or unable to keep up.

The girl let out a short sigh. "Guess I'm alone tonight as well… _kurwa!"_

"You're Polish?" a question came from behind. _"Czy polski?"_

"No, no, no! I just like that word in particular." Beka turned around. Behind her there was a small and slim girl with short, white hair, pale skin and a striking lack of any form of smile on her face. When their eyes met, the girl looked away, but other than that, her expression remained unchanged.

"I'm sorry, I'm a bit shy," the girl said monotone. "I'm Władek." Taken aback by the girl's perfectly blank visage that betrayed no emotion despite her stating otherwise, Beka gaped for a few seconds. If what she said was true, she had the perfect poker face.

"I think I heard of you…" Beka said. "You're Bonple's captain, Władysław Raginis' namesake!"

"Yes," the girl said. "But I don't deserve the fame."

"You're Bonple's Leonidas! You fought a hopeless battle and tried to hold as long as possible! Twice! There's glory in that!" Beka said. "Although I'm not sure Polish tanks are exactly suited for defence…"

"I'm sorry. I'm not good at anything else." The girl kept her hands clasped and avoided Beka's gaze, classic shy behaviour, but her voice and expression were completely emotionless. "My school wanted to throw the battle last year, but I asked to make a stand. They let me."

"Even more awesome!" Beka cried. "That's it! I like you! Let's be friends!"

"But, I thought a Russian and a Pole can't get along," Wlad said.

"Nonsense!" Beka put her arm around the girl's shoulder and put on the brightest smile she could muster.

"I never had a friend before…" Wlad's expression didn't change, but a strange warmth gathered in her belly. Her pulse quickened, she looked Beka in the straight in the eyes for the first time. "I'd love to."

"I heard you became captain recently?" Beka asked. Ecstatic that she finally found someone to spend the evening with, she grabbed two glasses of whatever drink Eton was serving, put one in Wlad's hand and started questioning her newfound friend. "There was some accident or something during a Tankathlon match Bonple was taking part in, right? The debacle was all over the news, but they were stingy on the details. Some people got hurt…"

"I don't know," Wlad said. "I only took part in Sensha-dou. Tankathlon is more about mobility than static defence, my area of expertise, so I was always left behind."

"And you became captain after that?" Beka asked.

"Yes. After the previous captain, Grandmaster Jajka," the girl hesitated for a moment, searching for the right word, "left Bonple, they wanted me to take command. Most of the girls were very nice. It was an honour."

"Yeah, I heard not too many people liked the previous captain, but everyone loved you," Beka said. "And now I see why!" She refiled the girl's drink and clinked her glass with in an impromptu toast. "Oh, you have to tell me everything about your match against Pravda last year!"

"OK… but I'm not good with words…" Wlad said. She paused for a moment, took a sip from her drink followed by a deep breath. "I was a freshman back then…"

* * *

"We're facing Pravda in the first round, do we stand a chance?" Uszka asked. Across from her, Bonple's captain sat in an armchair staring into the fire. Seemingly ignoring the question, the girl crossed her legs and remained silent. Uszka insisted. "Grandmaster?"

"It doesn't matter. Sensha-dou is merely a distraction," Grandmaster Jajka finally spoke. "Tankathlon is where we gain our pride and glory. Nothing else matters."

Uszka nodded as a smug smile crept on her face. She agreed. The sound of knocks on the door grabbed her attention. A small girl with short hair entered the room. She politely bowed to her seniors. "Good evening. I'm –"

"A freshman," Jajka interrupted, uninterested in the girl's name. She wasn't important enough for the Grandmaster to care. "What do you want? Speak!"

"I noticed an easily defendable location on the map –"

"You have thirty seconds to tell me what you want," Jajka said. Her commanding tone and arrogant demeanor would have made even the most confident girl shy away, but the freshman hid her emotions very well. Her only reaction was to look away slightly, but she otherwise seemed unaffected.

"I want to lead the battle against Pravda," the girl said. Her face and voice betrayed no emotion. She waited patiently for an answer. The room filled with silence, until Jajka's response finally came – a fit of laughter. The more she laughed, the more Uszka ground her teeth.

"How dare you–" Uszka cried, but was interrupted by a gesture from her captain.

"Why not?" Jajka said. "Go ahead, humiliate yourself."

The girl took a bow. "Thank you, Grandmaster."

The day of the battle approached quickly, but Bonple's captain showed no interest in the match. Instead, only the quiet, nameless freshman drilled the crews and devised plans, all while Jajka and Uszka looked from afar. The students rapidly came to like their quiet new commander. Unlike the Grandmaster, she was modest and kind, answered their every question and helped them at every opportunity. She spent time with the girls, trained with them and led by example – no wonder she was popular. Hope that they might win started spreading through Bonple's Sensha-dou club, and although talk about the plan and their new tank was prohibited to avoid the secret from slipping into enemy hands, the freshman commander gained a nickname. They called her Wladek, after Władysław Raginis.

The day of battle arrived. On the field, the Bonple girls rapidly moved to a more defensive position and dug in, fortifying it. "Poles," Wladek said, "what is your profession?"

Her monotone voice was anything but inspiring, and she wasn't loud enough for everyone to hear, but despite all that the Bonple girls cried in unison as if it was rehearsed, "HA-OOH! HA-OOH! HA-OOH!" The choir of high school girl voices was not intimidating as much as cute, but their enthusiasm echoed through the field. Wladek then hit play on the audio system she had installed on the back of her tank.

"Baptized in fire of fire, 40 to 1!"

In the spectator tribunes, Erika burst into laughter. "Are they serious? They don't stand a chance." She wasn't very happy they had to waste time watching the matches of lesser schools, but Maho insisted they watch every single one and she complied.

The deep singing voice of a man echoed in the distance. "So silent before the storm, awaiting command. / A few has been chosen to stand as one outnumbered by far."

Erika burst into laughter again. "They're serious!"

Maho shook her head. "Do not underestimate the importance of morale."

It took a while for Pravda to realize what was happening, but not long after the beginning of the match, their tanks were lined up in front of the Bonple defense. "Are those tank traps?!" Katyusha asked. Bonple had fortified their location considerably and were positioned right between a river that marked the border of the battlefield and a cliff, thus preventing flanking and making a rear attack time consuming. They'd dug holes for their tanks to fire from without exposing themselves. "Attack them frontally!" Katyusha said. "They won't stand a chance!"

The T-34s charged like a cavalry regiment from hell. Bonple opened fire, but their 37mm shots bounced harmlessly off the thick soviet armor. Katyusha laughed at their puny guns, until a much louder roar from the trenches overwhelmed all other sounds. Something hit the T-34/85 turret with a loud thump. "What?!" her voiced echoed through the tank. Right beside her, the white flag waved in the wind. "Impossible!"

"Commander, they have a Churchill!" another girl said over the radio.

"But… but… that's not a Polish tank!" Katyusha cried.

"The 1st Polish Armored Regiment used it," Nonna said. "All units, pull back. We'll hit them from outside the range of their 6 pounder." Her calm voice was transmitted to the radios of every friendly tank. The troops complied, rolling their tracks in reverse, backing away from the Bonpple line. Not even the 6 pounder on the Churchill could penetrate the frontal glacis of the T-34s and IS-2, but the turret was another matter. Pravda could have overwhelmed them with their sheer numbers with ease and destroyed the Churchill, but there was no point to take casualties when Nonna could have sniped the heavy tank from a distance with the IS-2's 122mm.

"Don't leave me here, Nonna!" Katyusha cried. Even through the radio, her voice made it obvious she was on the brink of bursting into tears. Nonna's T-34/85 advanced to the back of the knocked out friendly to rescue the captain. Katyusha jumped out of the turret, slid down the cold metal of the tank and, leaving her crew behind, ran to her guardian. She climbed the hull, jumped in and the moment she regained her balance, hugged Nonna with all her might. The tall girl comforted her by caressing her head, but their tender moment was interrupted by the sound of a shell hitting the hull of the tank.

"It bounced off," the driver cried.

"Move away!" Katuysha ordered.

After almost an hour of bombardment, Bonple showed no sign of despair. Even with more than half their tanks taken out, they still held steadfast. "Why won't they break already?!" Katyusha cried.

"Maybe we should threaten to kill their POWs," Nonna suggested.

"What?! What are you talking about?" Katyusha asked.

The Churchill was well entrenched. Nonna had a difficult time taking it out, especially with the 7TPs putting smoke on her constantly. The D-25T 122mm gun on the IS-2 had two issues. It used a separate shell and powder charge, both very large and heavy, so it was difficult to reload, hence the slow rate of fire that led to the bombardment taking so much time. To top it off, the tank only carried 28 rounds, 20 of which had already been fired, meaning that Nonna had eight more chances to take out the Churchill.

"I can't wait anymore!" Katyusha cried. "All units, charge! The Churchill can't take us all out!" Unlike Nonna, patience wasn't her strong suite. The engines of the T-34s revved up, but Nonna wanted to take one more shot before the charge. She looked through the visor of the cannon and breathed out. She pulled the trigger and the 25 kilogram projectile was hurled towards the enemy at 800 meters per second.

* * *

"The last thing I remember was the Churchill finally being hit by the IS-2," Wlad said. "I blacked out. From what I understand, the girls panicked and ran." Just as before, her voice betrayed no emotion, but sadness ached her heart. Beka patted her on the back and urged her to continue. Ignoring the pressure in her chest, she did. "By the time I woke up, they had decided to go around the cliff and try some hit and run tactics, but it didn't work." With the armament they had, the battle was lost when the Churchill was knocked out.

"That's quite the story," Beka said. "Thanks for sharing it." For a second, she thought Wlad gave a faint smile, but it was too short to be sure. She ruffled her hair and put on her trademark grin, as bright as ever. "How 'bout I tell you a story now? Wouldn't be fair if I didn't tell you one in return."

"OK," Wlad said.

"See, we're already such great friends!" Beka said. She again ruffled Wladek's short hair like she would a little sister's. The girl looked away, but the strange warmth filled her stomach again. She was happy. "It was a while ago, when I was in Germany…"

By the time the ball was over, Beka had narrated her entire life in Germany, albeit with numerous exaggerations and some omissions. Wladek had listened with utmost interest, impressed by the confidence and charisma of her new friend. And so, with the day's end, the seeds of a great friendship were sowed, between a Pole and Russian that was actually a half-German half-Chinese foreign student.

By the time the ball was over, Katyusha had gotten used riding on Ivan's shoulders. The two were like a father and little daughter in the park. But it was finally time for the two to part. Ivan picked the girl from his shoulder and put her back on the ground. She was a bit disappointed that it was all over, but given how well the students of the two schools got along, they'd surely meet again. Ivan patted her on the head. That very second, Katyusha's happiness vanished and she started pointing angrily at the boy.

"Don't treat me like a child! I'll purge you!" Katyusha cried. With her feet back on the ground, she was back to her usual self. "I hate it when people treat me like a child!"

Ivan didn't want to look down on her, so he crouched beside her and smiled. "It's OK, Katyusha," he said. "Height is not important. What matters is here and here." The boy pointed at Katyusha's chest and forehead. "Heart and mind make one great." Katyusha's face lit up once more, her eyes sparkling with glee. She nodded with enthusiasm. The boy understood.

By the time the ball was over, Peter and Nonna had gotten very close. Despite Natasha's attempts to sabotage them several times, Peter found himself in an enviable position. He was the last Gordost student to board the helicopter departing from Eton. The sun had long set, its amber light replaced by the faint flicker of starts and a waxing crescent moon. Their bodies were close, he could feel the warmth emanating from the girls face. He had but to lean in and plant a kiss, the time was right, the atmosphere perfect, but he hesitated. The image of his sister entered his mind for a second. There was no need to rush things. He had just barely met Nonna, time was plenty. He backed up.

"It's been a pleasure, Nonna," Peter said. "I hope you will accept my invitation and join me at Gordost. I very much enjoy your company."

"Of course, comrade. There's nothing I would like more." It was too dark to see the girl's expression. Perhaps she was disappointed, perhaps she was relieved, he could not tell, but he hoped for the best.


	41. Memories, Part 4,5 - Wladek's Secret

"It was really nice talking to you, Wla… Wadia… err…" Beka looked around confused and scratched her head. "I don't think your name has a French diminutive, does it?"

"Wladek is already diminutive," the girl said.

"Hmm… I'll see what I can do. Oh, we definitely need to meet in the future! That's what friends do," Beka said. She put on her trademark grin, nodded with enthusiasm and gently slapped Wlad's back. Even if it barely had any force, the light slap still made the girl stumble a bit. Beka found her new friend adorable. She wanted to pinch her cheeks, much like how Ivan wanted to Katyusha's. Wlad didn't have the childlike charm of Pravda's captain, but her clumsiness and shy demeanor made Bake want to take her in as a little sister. Wladek regaining her balance and took a bow. Suddenly, her face turned white. Her skin was pale in general, but this was different. It was the first time Beka had seen an expression of the girl's face. She looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"Beka, have you see Natasha?" Peter's voice rung from behind her. She turned around, unsure if he was the cause of Wlad's reaction, but Peter looked the same as always, no more intimidating than he usually was.

"Err… no idea. Barely talked with her tonight. She seemed to be pissed at you for some reason, but that's nothing new," Beka said. For a second, she chuckled, then she noticed Wladek was behind her, clinging on her back, trembling.

"I see," Peter said. He looked at the girl hiding behind his schoolmate, raised an eyebrow, but decided not to pursue the matter further. Maybe the girl had confused him with Ivan… wouldn't had been the first time. "Well, we're leaving soon. Say goodbye to your friend and don't be late for the departure." Responsible as always, he left to see to the rest of his fellow students, while simultaneously trying to catch his sister on the phone.

Beka turned around. Wladek was still clinging scared to her, like a child would cling to her mother's skirt. She was shaking. "Are you OK?" Beka asked.

The girl looked up. "Is he gone?" she asked, an expression of pure terror on her face. Beka was certain she preferred the poker faced Wlad. "Is he?"

"He left… yes," Beka said. Hearing that, Wladek started to calm down. She stopped trembling and her shoulders relaxed. She looked around, as if searching for other threats. "Are you OK?" Beka asked.

"Sorry…" Wlad mumbled. "I'm very shy… I lived most of my life around girls… and I haven't interacted much even with them. You're my first friend." Wlad looked up. "I'm afraid of boys."

Beka gaped at her for a few seconds. She had heard about girls who were timid around guys, but nothing as extreme as pure fear. She didn't know anything about Wlad's family, but if the she didn't have any interactions with boys, the poor girl must have seen Peter as some sort of alien, threatening thing.

"This is actually as close as I've ever been to someone… physically," Wlad added, then looked away. It hadn't occurred to Beka earlier. She had approached Wladek like she would have anyone else. Naturally friendly she ignored the boundaries of personal space, enjoying to ruffle hair and pat backs. She did that with everyone, and stopped only if it the person complained. Wladek didn't seem opposed to it, but to think it was the first time somebody treated her like that sent chills down Beka's spine. Had that girl experienced no camaraderie? With no previous friends, it wasn't hard to believe. But what about her parents?

"It's OK," Beka said. "That was Peter, he's not that bad." She hugged poor Wladek and patted her on the head. To have such a phobia was tragic, but there was something that worried Beka even more. Someone as shy and guidable as Wlad would definitely end up heartbroken, or worse, dominated, abused, unaware of the grave situation she'd be in. Beka couldn't live with that. Something had to be done. Wladek needed a guardian.

* * *

The barely lit room smelled of oil and gunpowder. A boy was messing around with the components of a tank gun on the floor, another was leaning on a table, talking to a blonde girl besides him about attack strategies. Across the table, Beka saw her target.

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in?" the boy at the table asked.

"Don't worry, the guy you posted outside is just unconscious. I didn't break any of his bones," Beka said. The bright grin on her face made her statement the more sinister, but the boy didn't seem discouraged. He'd kick her out and then have a talk with the idiot outside who was sleeping on his duty. He walked towards Beka, only to find out she was speaking the truth. The red haired girl rotated once, so fast that her ponytail spun like a ring of fire in the air, and planted a kick in his stomach. The boy went flying a few meters, straight into a wall, knocked unconscious. Everyone in the room flinched. The boy working on the tank gun looked up, then back at his gun and continued his work, even if his hands started shaking. The blonde stared terrified at the wild animal in front of her. "You're Jajka, right?" Beka asked. "They still allow you on the ship? I'm not here for you. Get out of my way." Without saying a word, the blonde complied, leaving nothing but a table between the tiger and her prey.

The girl on the other side of the table was visibly trembling. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Uszka-chan, I have a favor to ask," Beka said. She smiled like she would to a lifelong friend, but to everyone in the room she looked like the devil. "You're still part of Bonple, right?"

"Y– yes…" Uszka said.

"Good. Here's what you'll do. You'll stop following blondie here, rejoin the Sensha-dou club and keep little Wladek out of trouble. I'll make sure they'll take you back," Beka said.

"What?" Out of any apparent danger, Uszka sighed relieved. She was still a bit scared, and very confused, with no idea what the girl before her wanted, but if it got her a ticket back in the Sensha-dou club, it was good news.

"You see, I don't have time. If somebody picks on her it will be a pain to handle, but with you there, I can relax. At best, you'll solve the problems without my involvement. If you can't, at least you can point me to my target."

"What? Why me? Why would you even trust me with this?" Uszka asked.

Beka's smile turned upside down. Not even Wellington's frowns could compare to how intense Beka's glare was. She started Uszka down, making sure her words would be forever etched in the girls mind. "Because if you disappoint me… I know where you live. Do I make myself clear?" Uszka gulped. She could feel every hair on her body stand on end. She nodded. "Great! Bye-bye!" Beka cried. With her smile back on as quickly as it had vanished, she turned around and walked out of the room.


	42. Fake Sensha-dou

_Osaka, one week before Eton's match with Gordost_

The girl before Wellington and Richard was a striking beauty with a most peculiar hairstyle. Her blonde hair had a large braid coming out of an even larger swirled bun. Richard noted that it was even more impractical than Darjeeling, Pekoe and Katanako's hairstyles combined. What was it with girls and complex hairdos?

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation, gentlemen," the young woman said. Her gaze and smile showed outstanding confidence – she scanned the boys for weakness. "I salute you, Mr. Wellington, Mr. Lionheart."

"I prefer Stanfield," Richard said. His tone was so cold that Wellington asked himself if it actually was a woman they were facing and not some impostor. It was the first time he'd seen his friend talk to a girl like that. It was uncanny. A thought crossed his mind – perhaps it was her strange costume, resembling the gala-dress uniforms of the Polish Podhale Rifles Brigade – but he quickly dismissed it. Richard disliked nicknames and excessive cosplay, that was certain, but he never treat the History Costumes Club badly, so treating a lady like that was out of the question. It had to be something else. The only other explanation that came to mind was that his friend's ability to almost flawlessly judge character kicked in. If Richard was so turned off by that girl, Wellington had to keep his guard up.

"Of course," the girl continued. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Grandmaster Jajka." The girl's smile was jarring, starting to reflect more arrogance than simple confidence, fact reinforced by her adding a title before her name, as if it meant anything. Wellington didn't like that very much. It slowly became obvious why Richard reacted how he did.

"Eggs?" Richard asked. "Charming," he added condescendingly. By then, the girl realized the conversation wasn't going her way and it was eroding at her pride.

Wellington finally stepped in. "I have heard of you. You were once a student of Bonple. Got–"

"That's not why I'm here," the girl interrupted, trying to put on a fresh smile, but failing and coming off as fake. "My past matters not. What matters is the future," Jajka said. "I want to make you a proposition."

Richard wanted to refuse before even hearing her out, but Wellington stopped him. "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it," he said. "But I'll indulge you. Go ahead." For the moment, she had his curiosity, if nothing more. By then, the girl must have been downright unsettled by their lack of interest, but she continued with as much conviction as she could muster.

"You school is underequipped, you stand no chance against Gordost. You've seen their matches. They are not as tactically retarded as the rest of the big schools. They have both the weapons and the skills to obtain victory. But I've seen what you're capable of, Mr. Wellington, so I come to make you an offer." The girl finally paused after her continuous speech, hoping for a dramatic build-up, but Wellington didn't react in any way. "Abandon this foolish tournament and join Tankathlon, the true Sensha-dou!"

Richard shook his head, but remained silent, as did Wellington for a few moments, before starting to chuckle. The chuckle turned into snicker, and before long, Wellington broke up into boisterous laughter. The guffaw let Jajka speechless – it was not the reaction she expected.

"Your concern is… charming," Richard said, "but our arsenal has recently been upgraded."

"I knew you'd suggest this, but still…" Wellington said, still sniggering. "To hear you say it… is still unbearably hilarious. It's been so long since I've laughed this hard at the ramblings of someone other than a fool."

"How dare you!" the girl finally broke down. Her mask off, she glared at the boys. "That stupid thing you play is nothing but a game, bound by safety rules and limitations! You, of all people should understand."

"Spectators in the field, getting in my way? No checks on the ammo and carbon lining? Bloody hell! No official oversight at all? Are you insane?" Wellington cried. He kept chuckling like he hadn't in years. The trip had been worth it, even if only for the hearty laughter. "By God, you can't just have bloody tanks roll around without any form of bloody control over the matches. That's a disastrous accident waiting to happen!"

"From what I hear, that's why you've been expelled from Bonple, isn't that right, Jajka?" Richard added.

Tankathlon was a tank sport that had slowly gained popularity among Sensha-dou enthusiasts. It also involved tank battles, but distinguished itself by a lack of official oversight allowing any school with tanks to participate in a battle anywhere at any time, and a 10-ton weight restriction on tanks used, limiting battles to light tanks and tankettes. Despite its dangers, it gathered many fans, until the inevitable occurred. The accident woke everyone up: the foolish spectators, the reckless participants and the authorities, who finally stepped in. Technically, it was not made illegal, but hardly anyone did it anymore.

"It's too bloody dangerous! I don't want to have spectators on my conscience." Wellington cried. The human had run its course – he was now serious. He stared the girl down, completely serious.

"Spectators were in the field at their own risk! I say it's worth it. Who care about the few dangers that come with it?"

"I do," Wellington said.

"Says the man who buried his enemy alive," Jajka mocked. The words struck home. For the first time that evening, Wellington felt hurt.

"Dear lady, despite popular belief, I am not a ruthless monster," the boy said. "There is a difference between taking a calculated risk and letting spectators roam the battlefield as if we're in 2009's Gamer film. The reason I could afford being so ruthless was because I knew the Federation was watching, ready to jump in if necessary."

"Just so you know, I personally liked that strategy," Jajka said. "I really thought you would understand me. But I see you are nothing more than a weak, self-righteous hypocrite!"

Wellington once more burst into laughter. "I lived to see the day when somebody called me 'self-righteous'." He actually preferred being called that to being called a dishonourable monster. Jajka had unwillingly improved his day. "Tanakthlon is too dangerous for both my boys and the spectators. And what's with the arbitrary weight limit? I say, Tankathlon was nothing more than a circle-jerk of cheap schools that couldn't afford to be in any official tournament, and now that it's gone: good riddance!"

"How dare you! I am Grandmaster Jajka, I demand respect!" the girl cried. Completely out of arguments, her pretty face was strained by anger.

Wellington laughed some more. "You really want to kill me with laughter. I remember seeing some of your matches. You have not changed a bit. You bled hubris, and for what? Your pride means nothing!" Wellington hissed. "You have no reason to be proud. You walked around declaring your supposed superiority and being all arrogant but you were nothing but a peasant playing the poor man's Sensha-dou."

Without another word, the girl stood up and left at a brisk pace, slamming the restaurant door behind her. Wellington still chuckled as she ran away, her blonde hair shaking violently with every step. The sheer amount of arrogance that woman had made her humiliation the more satisfying.

"Weren't you a bit harsh?" Richard asked.

"On her?"

"Heavens, no! She deserved it," Richard said. "On the poor schools. Don't they deserve a chance at Shensha-dou?"

"Of course! Don't get me wrong, I am very much for equal opportunity Sensha-dou. Ooarai's victory is irrefutable proof that even weak schools can get far, but the system is flawed. As it is, Sensha-dou is indeed exclusive to wealthier schools and Tankathlon a poor man's Sensha-dou. I did not say I liked it or I agreed with it, it is simply the truth," Wellington said. Richard looked at him and chuckled. His provocation had the intended effect. Wellington didn't notice, too worked up in his speech, he continued. "The new preliminary system is a step in the right direction, but…"

The Federation had recently implemented a way to give poorer schools a better chance entering the National Tournament. Until then, the schools with the best equipment and funding were guaranteed a spot, while others were denied. Some said that the denial was completely arbitrary, others that it was justified, sparing the weak schools from humiliation. Regardless, the new preliminary system fixed the issue. Weaker schools took part in eliminatory matches that judged their tactical and strategic prowess to determine if they had a chance at the cup despite their armament disadvantage.

"…the switch from flag battles to elimination is a step backwards, and what I can only see as a cheap attempt to avoid the defeat of favoured schools like in the last tournament. Financially, I would go even further, pushing all Sensha-dou costs onto the Federation, although that is unlikely to be approved… Besides, the whole idea that schools should try to stay afloat by joining Sensha-dou is absurd. The root of the problem is not the tournament's system, which is still flawed, but the whole School Ship system. A ship carrier is an extraordinarily expensive thing. Unlike a normal school, it is a hefty investment that shouldn't be taken lightly. We are witnessing a decrease in the demand for school ships and the effects are plainly visible, with school ships being decommissioned left and right, despite not even having gotten through half of their life.

"As for the idea of weight limit matches, it is not fundamentally flawed. It does, indeed, offer a good opportunity for schools that can't normally field large tanks take part in tournaments, and I like it, but not in the form of Tankathlon. Even if costs are to be cut by limiting official oversight, things have to be better organized to avoid danger. Tankathlon was a fiasco, a disaster waiting to happen, and the whole Bonple debacle proved it." With his rant over, Wellington took a deep breath and looked at his friend. When he finally noticed how Richard was looking back, he couldn't help but fell a bit flushed. He had played straight into his trap.

"I'm just teasing, mate!" Richard said. He really loved getting his friend worked up. He chuckled for a few moments, then let out a short sigh. "You really suffer when people have a bad opinion of you."

"Only if they're wrong," Wellington said. "If they'd call me a cynical bastard that's afraid of commitments, I'd shrug because it's true. I'm not a monster though… not yet."

After finishing their tea, Wellington and Richard got out of the restaurant. Around ten minutes had passed since Jajka stormed out of the place, but she was waiting just outside the entrance. When she saw them, she simply frowned and looked away. Richard gave his friend a nudge and chuckled. Wellington didn't find it funny, but Jajka looked a bit like him when she frowned.

"Waiting for us?" Wellington asked.

"Leave me alone. I'm waiting for a car." They had veritably broken her. The girl must have expected to come out of the restaurant with two new allies, but instead she was humiliated. Wellington very much enjoyed seeing her like that – not because he liked seeing people suffering, he was no sadist, but because she no longer came off as arrogant, and instead looked like a normal, flawed human being. She was an attractive young woman whose charm was ruined by hubris, so with her pride hurt, weak to the point of being pathetic, she became even more attractive to the boy. The exact reason was unknown even to him – perhaps he liked his women submissive, perhaps it was something related to Jajka in particular. He would have to meditate on the matter for a while to come to a conclusion, but that was for another day. She was hot, Wellington could not deny, perhaps better looking than Assam, but there was more to a woman than looks. Richard kept pushing him and Assam together, and he was certain Darjeeling supported it. He wasn't sure if he was ready for a relationship and the responsibility that came with it, but if he were to pick somebody, it would definitely not have been Jajka.

Wellington considered making more fun of the girl, perhaps asking her to become his pet in return for accepting her offer, but ultimately decided against it. He was starting to pity her. "Look, all jokes aside, I might be interested in some light tank side action as a hobby, but I have conditions." The girl's face lit up. "I want some level of safety guaranteed. First and foremost, I don't want any bloody spectator on _my_ battlefield! Secondly, tanks are going to be driven hatches closed. I don't want to accidentally murder someone. Third of all, I want the equipment to be inspected. I'll handle the costs, I just don't want your girls to experience critical armour failure, especially with what I'm going to field." The last thing Wellington wanted was blood on his hands. "These are my conditions."

"Done!" the girl said. Wellington expected her reaction to go one of two ways. She would either revert to her arrogant self or be genuinely grateful. Luckily, it was the latter, so he did not regret his choice to give in. A lingering doubt remained in the back of his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. This was not planned; the girl had not manipulated him. Had she tried, Richard would have warned – the perks of having a friend like him.

"You know how to contact us," Wellington said. "Give me a call after the match with Gordost. You'll have even more reasons to want me."

A very conspicuous smile grew on the girl's face, very different from her normal arrogant smirk. Perhaps she took Wellington's line as a flirt and wanted to continue, or perhaps she wanted to start it herself, but she gave the boy a most provocative look. "Won't your girlfriend disapprove?"

"I don't have time for girlfriends," Wellington said, coldly and without a single trace of shame. A fatal mistake, for in a single move he had rearmed Jajka. Richard gave his friend a concern glance. 'We're still working on that,' he wanted to say, but he didn't want the girl to overhear.

"Come to think of it, rumours say you've got your eyes on Gloriana's top gunner." Jajka grinned as she said those words – her confidence had returned completely. Her weak moment didn't last long and now Wellington regretted he left his guard down. How the hell did she even hear about any of that? It wasn't even true. "I say you drop that simple minded girl and find somebody more–" the girl's seductive speech was suddenly interrupted when Wellington pinned her against a wall. The girl froze, unsure of his intentions. For the first time, her eyes showed fear and surprise.

"Don't even start with fake smiles and seductive lines." With his hands on her shoulders, holding her firmly to the point where it almost hurt, he stared her in the eyes. He didn't even like her, so her feeble attempts at seduction were insulting. He was not interested in a relation, not with the tournament ongoing, and even if he were, Jajka would definitely not be an option, especially given how she behaved. Besides, he already owed Assam a date. "I will never fall in love with you."

After the initial shock and a few seconds of dumbfounded silence, Jajka started laughing. "How naïve! Who said anything about love?" she said. The next moment, she moved one leg in a compromising position between his and tried to lean in for a kiss. Wellington could feel her breath on his face, the warmth of her skin radiating on his – she was serious. He let go and took a step back, a bit flustered. She'd won.

Having just countered Wellington's move, Jajka went on the offensive. Now free, she brushed off her coat and gave the boy a seductive smile. "Mr. Stanfield here is attractive, for certain, charming, but you… you have vision, Mr. Wellington, you have inspiration. That turns me on," she whispered. "I want you."

Wellington pondered whether to cut his losses and leave or try for a comeback. "You'll never have me, Jajka, but I might allow you the honour of staying in my shadow if you kneel before me."

Before Jajka could respond, a car stopped right beside them. "Hey, babe, these losers causing you trouble?" the driver asked. Richard detected aggression in his voice. Judging from her reaction, Jajka knew him, but didn't seem very glad he was there. Perhaps she hoped to be alone before he arrived. Once more, a faint trace of fear was visible in her eyes as the boy got out of the car. The possibility of conflict was undeniable – Richard focused, his perception of time slowed down. With his guard up, he turned his attention to the potential enemy. Having a driver's licence meant the boy was at least 18. The scent of cigarette smoke coming from him meant he was either older than 20 or breaking Japanese law. With the corner of his eye, Richard saw the young man approach, a ballcap placed backwards on his head. He pulled out a butterfly knife and opened it, probably an intimidation tactic, but Richard wouldn't take any chances. With a single move, he placed a kick straight in the boy's stomach, sending him flying into his car.

"Don't play with knifes, kid," Richard said. "You might get hurt."

Jajka was smiling, as if she enjoyed seeing the man that came to pick her up get knocked out. The boy got up from the sidewalk and shook his head confused. "Jajka, get in the car, now!" he growled. The girl's smile vanished and she obeyed without a word. On the ground, a foot away from Richard lay the butterfly knife. The young man looked at it, then at Richard, then back at it.

"Don't even think about it. Get lost," Richard said.

"Fucking psycho," the boy mumbled. He got in the car and drove off.

"He pulled a knife on us and he calls us psycho?" Wellington sighed. "Bloody imbecile. By God, what has that woman gotten herself into, hanging out with people like that?" Richard remained silent, following the car with his eyes until it left his field of vision. "Any theories on what was that all about?"

"Whatever their relationship was, she didn't like him," Richard explained to his less observant friend. "I'd go as far as to say she feared him."

"God knows who she's gotten involved with for Takathlon's sake after she left Bonple," Wellington said.

"What makes you think that guy had anything to do with Tankathlon?" Richard asked.

"Educated guess. Funding, crews, tanks, none of those are easy to come by if you're not part of a decent school. I bet Jajka sold her soul for something she needed and now she can't get out."

"Do you want to buy it back?" Richard asked.

Wellington chuckled. "From people like that? More like–"

"Take it by force," Richard said. Wellington nodded. Sharing disdain for scoundrels, the two started laughing. "But why help her?" Richard continued. "I even heard she used to steal boyfriends back in the day."

"By God, she's a textbook scumbag. They don't get any worse."

"I thought experience taught you not to trust rumours," Richard said.

"It did, but in her case, she seems the type. I wouldn't consider it beneath her."

"If it wasn't for Darjeeling, I'd seduce this girl, then intentionally break her heart, but as it is, I'd be cheating on Darjeeling, and I don't want to do that."

"Think you can get this one. Earl Grey–"

"Yes," Richard said. "She doesn't compare to Earl Grey. Jajka's weak, she doesn't have any real strength of character. It's all pretence."

"It doesn't matter. It's all catching up to her, anyway. As I have seen, those who plough iniquity and sow trouble reap the same," Wellington said. "It's getting late. Let's go home."


	43. Fake Sensha-dou, Bonus Chapter

The phone rang. Wellington answered. "Yes…"

"Good evening, Mr. Wellington," a familiar, but annoying voice came from the speaker. Wellington sighed.

"Good evening–"

"That was quite a show you put against Gordost. You really know how to make a girl's heart race." Once more Jajka was wasting both their time with futile seduction.

"Get to the point, Stacy."

"Stacy? I beg your pardon?"

"What do you want?" The impatience made Wellington raise his tone. He did not have time for idle chatter.

"Ahem… Tankathlon. When can you start?"

"Obviously, Roosevelt takes priority…"

"Can I help you with anything? Anything at all?" Jajka said, her tone suggesting anything but decency. Wellington couldn't fathom how that lewd woman hoped to win him with such a blatant approach.

"No, I doubt you could help me with anything even if you meant that," Wellington said. His best weapon against her advances was an icy cold tone, which did not hesitate to use extensively.

"Do I really need to wait until the end of that stupid Sensha-dou tournament? I want you sooner!" the girl pleaded. For a moment, she seemed honest, but Wellington knew better.

"Cut the bullshit. If I'll find some free time I'll give you a call." The boy wanted to end the call, but Jajka's voice interrupted him

"Wait!" the girl pleaded. The whole seductive and needy attitude was pissing Wellington off.

"What?" the boy asked.

"We need to discuss the details. On our first match, we'll have to work together, unless you want to face the Night Witches's large arsenal alone."

"Have you met my conditions?"

"Oh, most of them are already met. You might not have heard, but now every match takes place with JSDF authorization. Still anyplace, anytime, but first the JSDF form a perimeter and keep people out. That handles the spectator problem. As for the inspections, you can inspect me all you want…" Jajka said. Wellington rolled his eyes. "I mean my tanks. The Night Witches have high standards, so you don't need to bother with them. They have themselves covered. If you don't believe me, call them."

"Very well, then I'll contact you when I have some free time," Wellington said.

"I can't wait to hear your voice again, my love," Jajka said. Wellington cringed. He closed the phone without even saying goodbye.


	44. Back to the Present

"How goes the decryption?" Wellington asked. He held the smartphone up by his ear as he relaxed in his armchair. The fireplace burned faintly, filling the room with dim light and warmth.

"Reasonably well, but you understand the crown has different priorities, Mr. Greenberg. I can't allocate any more resources to this favour," the man on the other side of the call said.

"Of course, I can ask nothing more." Wellington paused for a moment and looked deeply into the small flame that was slowly dying.

"You said you still have their system bugged," the man said. "Any news on that side? It would help greatly with cracking the encryption."

"Nothing. I'm still waiting for the suspect to encrypt the unencrypted email we recovered so our key logger might get us the password he uses, but no luck so far," Wellington said.

"Until then, we can only try to break the rest of the files the hard way."

"I'll inform you if anything comes up. Thank you again." Wellington ended the call and put his phone face down on the table. He had a lot on his mind. On one side, Jajka, from whom he hadn't heard since their conversation after the Gordost match, had lost her patience and started pestering him about Tankathlon. His relationship with Assam didn't seem to affect her shameless flirting at all. If anything, she only redoubled her efforts to seduce him. On the other side, the match with Roosevelt was imminent. The finals would prove to be his most difficult battle. Roosevelt's commander, unironically called Command, was a very dangerous foe, not to be underestimated. Stress was grinding at his nerves, so much that he didn't even hear the door open, nor did he hear someone walk behind his armchair, in his blind spot. He only felt a pair of hands grabbing him. He flinched, but the small hands didn't try to strangle him, and instead started massaging his shoulders. "Oh, it's you, Assam…" the boy sighed relieved. "I didn't hear you enter."

"Is everything OK?" Assam asked. Her voice was music to Wellington's ears compared to the stressful noises of tank engines during training. It was ironic, really, since not long before he would have preferred facing an enemy in battle to having a conversation with a girl Richard hoped to hook him up with. They'd come a long way, no longer feeling that awkward around each other.

"I'm tired… I can't wait for this tournament to end," Wellington said. Assam remained silent and kept massaging his shoulders. She still didn't know him well enough to understand his feelings perfectly. Unlike Richard, she could only guess how much he enjoyed doing what he did, but she caught glimpses into his character and slowly put the pieces together. She wanted to know him better, but didn't want to risk stressing him more than he was. He had a tournament to win.

The biggest piece of the puzzle was revealed to her when she brought tea one evening to his office. He would never forget that moment. Wellington wasn't there, so she planned to leave the tea on the desk. Clearing the papers to make space for the cup, she stumbled upon a stack of math calculations. She could recognize her boyfriend and Monty's writing. Fate or coincidence made it that Wellington entered the room that very second.

Assam flinched. "Wellington-sama, I brought tea," she said.

"Thank you, Assam. You're too kind." Wellington walked to his armchair, sat in it and grabbed some papers. He didn't even notice the sheets in his girlfriend's hand. Assam put them down back on the desk when something caught her eye.

"These are volume calculations, for displaced mud under various weather conditions," Assam said. "You weren't joking when you said…"

The girl's words hit Wellington like a truck. Anxiety curled in his stomach like a boulder. He let out a long and pained sigh. "I still hate myself for that… even if there was no other way," he muttered. "Even after all those calculations… the volume of mud dislocated exceeded expectations. We never anticipated it would start flowing into the tanks… anymore and someone might have drowned…" The boy put his hand on his forehead, hiding his face. He sighed once more, not as long but more anguished.

Assam was speechless. She didn't expect that reaction. The last thing she wanted was to make Wellington suffer. The boy got up from his chair and looked out the window. From that position, it looked as if HMS Audacious stretched all the way to the horizon. The setting sun painted everything in a depressing shade of orange.

"I'm sorry, Assam… I'm not…" Wellington mumbled. She didn't know what to say, so the girl simply acted. It was her duty to comfort him. The next thing Wellington felt was her embrace. She rested her cheek on his back and hugged him tightly. It was Wellington's turn to be left speechless.

"Don't hate yourself," Assam said. "Learn from your mistakes and make sure you never repeat them."

"Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory, for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated," Wellington said. Having just quoted Sun Tzu meant Assam's gamble had paid off. The boy chuckled. "But learning from mistakes is the next best thing."

Wellington turned around and embraced Assam in return. The orange of the sunset didn't seem so depressing anymore.

"Assam, are you OK?" Wellington asked. The girl snapped from her remembrance-induced trance and looked around confused.

"Oh, sorry, I spaced out a bit." At his desk, Wellington was as focused as always, frowning at one of his papers, but the look of him still warmed Assam up. "I love you," she said.

Wellington stopped reading and looked up at her. His frown vanished, replaced by surprise. The statement had come out of nowhere and had taken him aback. "Yes… err… I love you too."


	45. Vom Kriege

"Wellington-sama, I've finished reading On War," Assam said. She sat on a chair in front of Wellington's desk and poured herself some tea, obviously wanting to discuss it. Wellington's face lit up. It was a rare occasion – the first one, actually.

"Oh, I've recently talked about it with the Shogun," Wellington said. "How did you find it?"

"It was a bit complicated," Assam said, "but it was an interesting read. I understand why you didn't like it… what I'm not sure about is why you dismissed it so easily."

"Clausewitz thought wrongly that major wars end with major battles. He favoured large-scale engagements between armies. I find that despicable and foolish," Wellington said. He brought the cup to his mouth to take a sip.

"I disagree," Assam said. The boy stopped mid movement and looked surprised at his girlfriend. It was the first time she disagreed with him. Seeing his reaction, Assam was a bit flushed. "I don't mean that you're completely wrong, it's just… err…" She waved her hands flustered, trying to regain her composure. After a few moments, she succeeded. She took a deep breath and explained. "I mean, it's true, I'm also against throwing away lives, and he was, indeed, wrong. World War One and Two and the American Civil War proved that major battles don't win wars, but hindsight is superior to foresight." Wellington's lips curved in a smile. Assam was speaking sense. They were finally having a conversation he could fully enjoy. "Clausewitz didn't live to see those wars. During his life, wars in Europe could be won with a single decisive battle."

"A very good point," Wellington said. Enthusiasm written on his face, he smiled at the girl like she'd rarely seen before. "Go on."

Assam continued. "From what I gather, Clausewitz based his work on observation. He wasn't stating facts, he was merely writing down the realities of war contemporary to him. His failure was in no part his fault; those were simply the truth of his time. So for the first part, he was definitely not stupid. You shouldn't be so hard on him."

"I'm a bit jealous that you're defending another man from me, even if he is 200 years dead," Wellington chuckled. He expected Assam to blush, but she did not. She instead giggled in return. "You are correct. I never really believed he was stupid, I was just making fun of him because I didn't agree with his strategies," Wellington said. "He was a smart man, true, and his only mistake was taking the truths of his time for granted. He only observed; Sun Tzu devised. Sun Tzu's writings remained relevant throughout time. My case stands. Even if Clausewitz is not stupid, Sun Tzu is still superior." Satisfied with his statement, Wellington leaned back on the armchair. It was refreshing to have an argument on military strategy with his girlfriend. She'd held her own quite well, but there was no way she'd win their first debate.

"They only remained relevant because they are so general," Assam said. "Guerrilla warfare doesn't change." An unexpected comeback – Wellington was once more surprised. He could only raise his eyebrows and let her continue. "I don't think Sun Tzu and Clausewitz can be compared to each other. The difference in their styles is not a matter of superiority, but of circumstance." Assam wasn't sure if she was making sense. It was her first time trying to explain her opinion on the subject of military strategy. "Not every country, not every army has the luxury and opportunity to apply Sun Tzu strategy."

Wellington kept smiling. If he understood what she was saying correctly, the girl had stumbled upon a problem he had faced a while back. She was advancing rapidly. It had taken him years to get to that point, but Assam did it in a few weeks. To be fair, she was older than he was at the time.

The problem of circumstance… of facing a worthy foe, of geography, or randomness – Wellington knew it too well. Mobility and deception were at the core of Sun Tzu's teachings, the foundations of all manoeuvres of guerrilla warfare. The mobility and harassment possibilities were limitless, and it would greatly limit casualties if applied well, but it made it difficult to hold any strategic position for a long amount of time. Clausewitz's doctrine instead described conventional warfare between equally matched foes that need to hold vital positions. If Britain was invaded and he tasked with defending it, what would Wellington do? He had thought about it. Guerrilla warfare could not be applied without forsaking the civilian population. The geography of Britain did not allow for complex manoeuvres. Not everyone had the luxury of Russian winter. The only answer was sacrificing soldiers, those who are ready to die for their country, to save civilians. An exception to the normal rules of honour Wellington followed; guerrilla warfare would prove more costly than conventional warfare in the case of an invasion due to the exposure of non-military assets. The conclusion was that relying on Sun Tzu strategies exclusively was impossible.

"You're partly right," Wellington said. "Depending on the competence of your opponent, applying conventional strategy might be preferable. Sadly, large-scale battles are not always avoidable, I know that, but I prefer to avoid them when I can and rely on Sun Tzu's teachings as often as possible. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Clausewitz's strategies are useless, just that I prefer to use alternatives as much as I can."

"So you agree that Clausewitz was neither stupid nor evil?" Assam asked.

"I never called him evil, actually, but to be fair, you have a point. There is no evidence that his strategies are based on malice," Wellington said. "And I already told you, I never seriously considered him stupid."

Assam was happy they'd finally reached consensus. All the time invested in researching the subject had paid off. There was one more thing she wanted to say, however. "But you did mock his book."

"I prefer how Wellesley handled things."

"As do I, but that's no excuse to mock his book," Assam said. "You just come off as arrogant, to consider yourself better than an acknowledged strategist. That's not good. We need to work on your image." The last sentence made Wellington imagine the girl arranging his tie. Although he didn't have one at the moment, it seemed fitting somehow.

"You're right, dear," Wellington said. He raised his cup to take a sip, but once more stopped halfway through. "Wow, we already sound like a married couple." When he realized what he had said, he couldn't help but blush. It was a reaction he didn't have too often, or at least not before he started dating Assam. She had made him discover things about himself he never knew existed. The girl became flushed as well. She looked away, as if it would have masked her rosy cheeks, but smiled at the thought.

A knock on the door – Richard came in. The concern in his gaze made Wellington forget everything else. Something was wrong. "The Federation postponed the battle," Richard said.

Wellington stood up from his chair. "Again?" he asked. "Why?"

"Something to do with the ongoing investigation into Ark Royal's sinking," Richard explained.

"More time for us, I guess…" Wellington said. A few more weeks of training wouldn't have made too much of a difference for his crews. They were already pretty well trained, far better than during the Gordost match, but he'd take any advantage he could get. Regardless, that wasn't bad news. Something else was on Richard's mind.

"One more thing," Richard said. "More of our guys got attacked on shore…"

"Again?! By God, this is getting preposterous!" Wellington sighed. He turned around and looked out the window where he was greeted by the familiar sight of HMS Audacious stretching to the horizon. A thought occurred to him. It was their sanctuary. Nobody would dared attack them on their home turf. "Have everyone cancel their shore leaves. We'll go in lockdown until the finals."

"What makes you think it will stop after the finals?" Richard asked.

"Don't tell me you still believe Top has nothing to do with it…"

"I never said that, it's just… I don't think he's that stupid." Richard's face looked different without his trademark smile, oddly cold and unwelcoming. To those who knew his usual self, it was uncanny to see him so serious. "Although to be fair, whoever put a price on our heads hid their tracks well."

"What's going on?" Assam asked. Her voice distressed, she looked confused at the two boys, and a bit scared. Wellington took her hand in his and looked her in the eyes.

"It's OK, we have everything under control," Wellington said.

"You're scaring me," the girl said. "Tell me what's wrong. Please."

Wellington let out a short sigh. "Remember when a bunch of random guys attacked us? It happened again, several times, to students that went ashore. It appears somebody put a price on our heads."

"And you think it's Top?" Assam asked. "He's trying to scare us out of the tournament?"

"No, that'd never work," Wellington said. "My theory is that he's trying to sabotage our morale, maybe knock a few of our crews out of the game… or get to me. But I have no proof."

"This is ridiculous… What a ruffian…" Assam mumbled.

"I know… Please, try to stay on board until the finals."

"Of course…" Assam gave him a reassuring gaze, but it didn't work. Whether Top was behind it or not, the strategy was effective. Harassment… maybe it was Drake who suggested it. His equal, the boy knew Sun Tzu. Maybe it was meant as mockery, using a perversion of his own subversive tactics against him. Wellington couldn't know for sure. For the moment, he could only play defensively.

"They're crossing the line," Wellington said under his breath. "Bloody yanks…"


	46. Informal visits

"I'm going out," Wellington said. He arranged the papers on his desk in a stack, giving his friend one last chance to speak before he left.

"Wow, that's a rarity," Richard chuckled.

Wellington's threw him a glare. If wanderlust was the reason Richard dropped by, then there was nothing to talk about. He grabbed his coat from the hanger and put it on in a hurry. "I need to visit Heinz and Peter," he explained. "The battle might have been postponed… again… but we can't let our guard down."

Richard wasn't sure how keeping their guard up and visiting Heinz and Peter were linked, but he didn't exactly care either. Wellington was the commander and Richard had utmost faith in him. However, there was one thing that bugged him. "I didn't know you and Peter were friends…"

"Actually, I have met him on several occasions to discuss strategy after our match," Wellington said.

Richard's smile vanished for a moment. "Be careful not to give Beka away," he said. "Peter is a good judge of character."

"How sweet. You care," Wellington retorted, but got no reaction from his friend. Richard opened the door and the two walked down the hallway.

"Give them my regards," Richard said.

"Any news on the attacks?" Wellington asked.

"None. I really doubt Roosevelt is behind it…"

"The more I think the more I realize Drake wouldn't have done it," Wellington said. "I can't explain it exactly, but I doubt he'd do anything to undermine the validity of the victory he wants to have over me."

"Just who is this guy? I thought you just met him once at a chess tournament," Richard said.

"Yes, but my victory over him was a fluke. I'm not exactly a chess master and the few times we've met after that he made it abundantly clear that he knew it. He didn't leave me the impression he was obsessed with it, but he will definitely not miss the opportunity to find out if he's better."

"Fascinating…" Richard rolled his eyes. They got out of the building, and started walking towards the helipad. "But if not Roosevelt, then who?"

"Don't get me wrong, I still think Roosevelt is behind this, I just don't think it is Drake who ordered it," Wellington said. "I don't think he even knows about it. Top, on the other side…"

"He is not that stupid. I met the guy. He's arrogant to the point where he makes Peter look humble, he's a jerk, he rules through intimidation, but he is not an idiot. This is too obvious for him."

"We'll find out in due time," Wellington mumbled. "See you tonight."

The propellers of the helicopter started cutting the air louder and louder. "You know, there's only one way I can be sure!" Richards shouted – his voice barely audible over the roar of the chopper. "I'll have to ask him in person!"

* * *

"Then Katyusha accidentally poked her eyes," Peter said.

"That must have been painful," Wellington said, all serious. Peter, on the other side, was clutching his stomach laughing. Must have been quite the sight, Wellington thought.

"Then she hid behind Ivan and kept apologizing like crazy," Peter continued. "Get that, Katyusha hid behind Ivan. It was hilarious."

"Yes, hilarious," Wellington repeated, unimpressed. Although he had to admit Katyusha's contradictory behaviour was a bit funny, he couldn't help but wonder when she would grow up. Maybe it was all an act on her side… he'd have to ask Richard opinion. He took a sip of the tea Peter had served him and switched his position on the chair. "But why was she scared? Nonna doesn't seem that intimidating."

"Oh, you have no idea," Peter said. "You just haven't seen her angry. Beware the nice ones. Of course, she's doesn't have Ivan's reactions – she's more cold rage while Ivan is boiling – but Katyusha really did remind me of how people act when they walk into my brother." He barely finished the sentence and burst into laughter once more.

"Yes, well, Ivan _is_ intimidating, more so than Nonna. And I guess your sister, Natasha, is a bit intimidating as well… even if she has a massive big brother complex."

"Hah, you've noticed too?" Peter asked. "It would be so funny if it weren't so sad. I can barely spend time with Nonna because of it…" He paused for a moment, allowing silence to fill the room. An expression of gloom replaced his humorous demeanour. "Tell me, Wellington, do you know if anyone figured it out yet?"

"What? You and Nonna? Richard, of course, but other than that, nobody that I know of," Wellington said.

"It's funny you're the only guy I told," Peter said. He stared into the distance as he spoke, as if lost in thought. "Not even Ivan knows, Katyusha is completely oblivious, and I fear what will happen if Natasha finds out." He sighed after mentioning his sister's name.

"You two are really obvious. I have no idea how nobody noticed. Even I did, and I'm no detective," Wellington said.

"Yeah, it's hilarious." Wellington expected Peter to start laughing again, but the boy remained serious. A bitter smile formed on his face, the normally proud leader of Gordost was radiating regret.

"You know what really is hilarious? The fact that you find everything hilarious after only one glass of vodka. That's why I drink tea," Wellington said. "I guess I should consider it a blessing that I pass out before I start babbling."

"Yeah, Nonna holds her drink better than me." Wellington's attempt at humour was successful. Peter chuckled. "But don't read me wrong, I'm not drunk. It's just that I can't speak about this stuff with anyone else. Good thing you visit once in a while."

"I have no idea how we always end up from discussing strategy to talking about women. Richard would do anything to get me talking as much. Still, I am flattered you trust me," Wellington said.

"We are brethren, are we not?" Peter said.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Our schools are similar. Anzio was founded by an Italian to promote his culture, Maginot with the aid of a Frenchman for the sake of wine, but our schools, our schools have a much nobler task – a place for the students of our countries to grow in this foreign land. We should stick together."

"You only say that because we beat you. Had we not, I doubt you'd make such a statement," Wellington said.

"True," Peter said. "I would not make an alliance with someone too weak to be of any use, but who would? Would you have taken Gloriana in had they not been capable?"

"Yes. I would have," Wellington said. His piercing gaze showed a lot more conviction that usual.

Peter chuckled. "That is something I would have expected Richard to say. It doesn't seem like it, but the two of you are quite similar in many ways."

"Tell me, Peter, is Katyusha as immature as she seems, or is it all an act?" Wellington's sudden change of subject caught Peter off guard.

"It's not an act… but she's not that immature either. She's a strange one, like Ivan. No wonder they get along so well. Give her another year and you won't recognize her. She's already is a better commander than I am."

Wellington took a long sip of his tea, finishing it. He placed the cup on the table and stood up. "It's getting late. We'll continue our conversation on deep operations next time… only to digress half way through and talk about our latest dates, for certain…" Wellington said.

"Of course," Peter said. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

The sea of clouds looked like white sand dunes on a background of azure. The make-believe horizon where the dune-like clouds met with the fake second sky was painted gold by the setting sun, but became darker the higher you looked, an ominous sign of rain, before giving back into the colour of the sky. A contrail left behind by a high altitude jet cut the picture horizontally, ruining its natural symmetry. Staring at the sky, Wellington didn't even notice when he'd arrived in front of his destination.

"Herr Wellington, welcome to the History Clubhouse! You couldn't wait for our meeting, that's why you visit, _ja?"_ Heinz led Wellington into the small courtyard of the building in which the history buffs resided. On the lawn, Caesar and August were training loading shells in a makeshift breach.

"Ah, _salve _Wellington!" August stood up and performed the Roman salute at his former commander. Caesar stood up too, wiped the sweat off her brow and waved.

"Good evening, August, Caesar," Wellington said. "Long time no see."

"August, bring some juice. You can train later," Heinz said. "Oryou and Erwin are out shopping, and Saemonza, Ryouma and Tadatsune are at the dojo, but we shall accommodate you, _Herr_ Wellington."

"Sorry I gave you such a short notice," Wellington said. He took his shoes off and walked in. The building was a traditional Japanese house, so etiquette demanded it. Slightly smaller than clubhouse Eton's former History Costumes Club used, what it lacked in size it made up in style. Wood and paper walls, sliding doors, bamboo floors, Ooarai's architecture was much closer to that of a normal Japanese town than any other school Wellington had visited. "I didn't know you guys lived in the same building. Must be quite different than what you were used to before."

"Let me show you around," Heinz said. "It's not as big as the dorm we had before, but the company makes up for it." The sly smile that followed Heinz's statement was all that Wellington needed to understand the subtlety. He wondered if the rest of the boys agreed. From what he'd heard, only Heinz are Erwin were officially an item. "How's Monty?"

"He wanted to come too, but he fell asleep," Wellington said.

"That's sounds like Monty indeed." Heinz showed Wellington around, one room at the time. Living in the same dorm with girls did quite the number on the boys' cleaning habits. Everything was neat und tidy. There were three rooms in the building, with the exception of the living room on the ground floor. Before the boys moved in, the four history buffs had the luxury of sharing three rooms between the four of them, but with the new arrivals, the two rooms at the first floor had to welcome three people each. As for the third room on the second floor, it had a special role.

"Is that a queen size bed?" Wellington asked.

"Yes, this room was previously unused, but me and Erwin tidy it up and now we both stay here," Heinz answered. "The boys have the left room on the second floor and the girls the right. Although if they hitch up things might get complicated…"

"You lucky bastard…" Wellington said. "The only time me and Assam slept in close proximity was once on the couch… and I guess you could count that one time we had the soiree and Richard got us drunk…"

"And what's stopping you, _Herr_ Wellington?"

"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted."

"The drinks are served, _Centurion!"_ August cried from downstairs.

After a few glasses of juice and many more cups of tea, after the subject changed from Sensha-dou to history, back to Sensha-dou, then back to history again, it was getting late. The sun had set completely and before they knew it, only the stars and moon illuminated the night sky.

"You are like Belisarius!" Caesar cried. "You have to join us next time August and I do some Roman Legion re-enactment."

"Belisarius? I like it," Wellington said. "You flatter me." He chugged the rest of the juice in the glass. It was too late for black tea, so orange juice had to do. "There are two men I truly respect in history, and those are Arthur Wellesley and Belisarius."

"What about Sun Tzu?" Heinz asked. "You always quote him."

"Sun Tzu is a different matter. I respect his teachings, but not the man himself. He did not practice what he preached, not fully at least… there were some thing he did I cannot agree with… like beheading women…" Wellington said. "Belisarius, however, I very much like. I particularly approve of the letter he sent to the leaders of Naples…"

"When I see, as in the mirror of the cities which have been capture in times past, this city of Naples falling victim to such a fate, I am moved to pity, both it and you, its inhabitants. For such means have now been perfected by me against the city that its capture is inevitable," Caesar said. "Procopius of Caesarea, History of the Wars."

"You know that by heart?" Wellington asked.

"Of course," Caesar said.

"Well, I think it's time I got going," Wellington said. "It's been good seeing you all. I look forward to your visit, Heinz."

"Same, _Herr _Wellington. I shall help you as much as I can to crush those yanks at Roosevelt."

"Glad to hear–" Wellington's phone started ringing. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. "Jajka? I don't have time for this now." He rejected the call and put the phone back in. "Glad to hear it!" he said.

"Come, I'll walk you to the helipad," Heinz said.

Once more the familiar sound of _Rule, Britannia_ came from Wellington's pocket. The girl sure was insistent. "What do you want!?" Wellington finally picked up. There was no answer; instead, what sounded like sobbing came from the other side. "Jajka?" Again, silence was his only answer. He was losing his patience. "If this is some kind of prank, I'll–"

"I'm sorry… I… I didn't know who to call…" Jajka finally spoke. "I'm sorry…" She ended the call, leaving Wellington even more confused than before.

"Bloody hell?" Wellington mumbled…

"Is everything OK, _Herr _Wellington?" Heinz asked. They had just arrived at the helipad and the pilot was eager to leave.

"No… I don't think so…" Wellington said. "I'll see you in a few days."

The boy got in the chopper and strapped himself in. Just what was all that about, he wondered… He had to investigate it. One more bloody thing to add to the 'to do' list. Even with Roosevelt match postponed he still had his hands full. If that was a prank, he'd have Jajka's head, but Wellington could not ignore the small chance that it wasn't. Just what was it that Jajka had gotten herself into?


	47. A day in the life of Mr Stanfield

Luigi Boccherini's _String Quintet in E major, Op. 11, No. 5_ played in the background, but little Richard Stanfield was too busy hiding behind his mother's skirt to pay any attention to _The Celebrated Minuet_. The ballroom was bustling. Guests from all corners of Britannia were invited to celebrate old Archibald Stanfield 71st birthday. All sorts of nobles buzzed around the old man, congratulating and wishing him the best. Unlike them, however, young Richard was a bit intimidated of his grandfather. Even at his age, Archibald stood tall and proud, an aura of unintentional superiority about him, the head of a noble family that came to Britannia with William the Conqueror. He was kind to Richard; always spoke in a calm and reassuring manner, but the few times he would sit the boy in his lap were not enough to make up for the feeling of awe the child felt looking up at him. At times, he wanted to play with his grandfather's beard, or take a walk with him in the garden, but the man was too busy and important and Richard didn't want to bother him, which was why he never tried. He was more than content with his mother's presence. There was no need to bother old man Archibald.

"Liz?" A familiar voice grabbed Richard's attention. Even if he rarely saw them, he instantly recognized his father's blonde hair and blue eyes. Slightly darker in tone than his own, the similarities were still apparent and every time the two sat side by side everyone would say how much they looked alike. Richard hated it, same as he hated his father. He wanted to be compared to his mother and was ecstatic whenever anyone would say he had her visage.

"Alex, it's been too long," Elizabeth said. She pushed her son towards his father, but the boy was reluctant. He looked away, avoiding the man's gaze.

"Richard, you've grown so much," Alexander said. A faint trace of sorrow was hidden in his voice, but Richard paid it no heed.

"Only because you haven't visited in years," the boy mumbled. He expected his father to shun him, but no reprisal came. Perhaps he hadn't heard. Perhaps he didn't care.

What father abandons his family for the sake of business? That question was on Richard's mind every time he saw Alexander Gandor. His duty should have been to him and his mother first, but the man had sent them away from Berlin, back to London, back to the Stanfield household. He did not only abandon them, he exiled them. For that, he hated his father. Every day he saw how his mother suffered and could do nothing. She meant the world to him, so he suffered with her, powerless.

The private family reunion didn't last long. Richard was saved from facing his father by the appearance of someone he like far more. "Alex, little sis, Richard! How are you?" Greeting with a bright smile, a young man walked towards the group.

"Uncle Elmer!" Richard jumped straight into the man's arms. He noticed a sadness in his father's eyes as he turned his back at him, but that made him happy.

"Smile, smile, smile!" Elmer said. "Turn that frown upside down. It's your grandpa's birthday, you should be happy!"

"Alexander! Good to see you, mate!" While Richard was busy with his uncle, another actor had entered the stage. The military uniform he wore did not make him stand out in the crowd as much as his dark brown hair among the sea of blond. Only Elizabeth's light caramel colour could compare.

"Thomas, or should I call you Colonel Greenberg, now that you've been promoted?" Alex said.

"Oh, heavens no! Alex, I see you haven't changed your sense of humour. How do you do, Elizabeth?" The man was father to Richard's best friend, Adrian Greenberg, the one who one day would be called Wellington. Unlike Richard, Adrian did not hide behind anyone's skirt. As his parents talked with Richard's, he simply looked around bored and disinterested.

"Parties are so troublesome," Adrian said. "I wish I could just go home and read a book or something."

"You've already read the Art of War a hundred times. You know there are other books too, right?" Richard said. During the course of that simple sentence, his expression changed completely. His previously dark visage and soulless eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. A different boy, he smiled and radiated joy.

"I see you are as energetic as always, cousin…" another voice rang close to Richard's ears.

"Maurice, you came too. Good, maybe this won't be so bad after all," Richard said, but his cousin wasn't exactly in the mood for a conversation. He simply yawned for a good ten seconds.

"I wish I would be in bed right now."

"Maurice, you're seven, children your age should run around playing hide and seek, not worry about their bed time." Richard scuffled his cousin's hair and gave the brightest smile he could muster. Around those he got along with, he was a brilliant young boy, for they would make him forget his plights.

"Just because you're three years older than me, don't think you can order me around. I don't want to lark about," Maurice said.

"Maurice, cover your mouth when you yawn," the boy's mother scolded him.

"Patty, how are you sis?" Elizabeth asked.

"It's good to see you, Liz."

"Claus, how's the Silvana?" Thomas asked. "You're keeping her in tip top shape, I hope."

Alexander Claus and Patricia Stanfield were Maurice's parents. As per Stanfield tradition, the ladies of the family kept their maiden names. Alex Claus Row was indifferent about changing his, so he easily accepted the Stanfield cognomen, and didn't mind even when everyone started calling him by his middle name to avoid confusion with Mr. Gandor. Alex Gandor, on the other side, had a family business to run, so instead Elizabeth chose to be called both Stanfield and Gandor. Richard was unsure why he was always called Stanfield only, but was more than gracious for it.

"A Colonel of the British Army and a Captain of the Royal Navy," Alex said. "You two should come to the private sector, it pays better."

"I see your sense of humour hasn't changed," Claus said. "There are things more important than money."

"I know, I was kidding," Alex said.

"Don't be hard on Alex, Claus," Thomas said. "You know he wants nothing but the best for his family." Had Richard been paying attention, he would have disagreed, but preferring the company of his fellow children, for the moment, he had no care in the world.

"Are you seriously going to dance with Lottie?" Maurice asked. "Isn't she a maid?"

"No, she's a maid's daughter, she's not a maid," Richard explained.

"Besides, what would it be wrong with that, Maurice?" Adrian asked.

"You know grandmother is very strict about your image," Maurice said.

A chill went down Richard's spine. If there was someone more intimidating that his grandfather, it was his wife. Catherina Stanfield was a very stern woman. Awe, not fear, was what Richard felt when he saw his grandfather, but his grandmother's presence inspired something more. Luckily, he didn't face Catherina that moment; he faced his cousin. "Lottie has the best grades in her class. She'll go to Harvard, I tell you. I can dance with her, it's not like I'll marry her," Richard said.

"We're only ten, Maurice. You can relax," Adrian said. "Your grandmother will have all the time in the world to turn Richard into a boring nobleman." As if summoned by his mention, Madam Stanfield appeared behind the boys. Aged but still elegant, she wore a ball dress to rival that of her daughters. The way she scanned the boys reminded Richard of Queen Elizabeth's occasional frowns. Adrian gulped, but quickly regained his composure. "_Quand on parle du loup…_" he muttered. "Good evening, Madam Stanfield, it is a pleasure to see you."

"Good evening, Adrian," Catherina said. She was always kind with friends, but such treatment was rare for family members. Sweet words from her were the more prized for their rarity. Albeit fair, she was generally harsh her grandsons, pushing them to overcome their limits. "Now, Richard, you were supposed to play the violin for your grandfather. I think it's time to show us how much you've learned."

"I… but…" Richard hesitated for a moment. Adrian noticed it. He was not ready. "Yes, grandmother…"

"Madam, excuse me, if I may, but could you give us another five minutes?" Adrian interrupted. "I would very much appreciate it."

"Of course, no problem at all," Catherina said. "But make it quick, I can't wait to hear Richard's interpretation of _Air on the G String_." The woman returned to the crowd to fulfiller her duty as host. Richard let out a short sigh.

"Thanks," Richard said. Adrian always stood up for him against the adults. If Richard was in awe of his elders, Adrian sentiment was closer to indifference, perhaps because he did not have to live up to such great expectations. Unfortunately, his confidence failed when dealing with his peers, so when he had troubles with those closer to his age, it was Richard who jumped in to help. Many a time was Adrian saved from bullies by Richard, who in turn was as confident around those of his age as Adrian was around those older.

Adrian patted his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry, mate, I know you'll do great!"

* * *

Richard opened his eyes. He peeked at his phone screen. 5:26 AM. Exactly four minutes before the alarm was set. He turned it off, even if it was on silent mode, supposed to only wake him. Darjeeling moved a bit on her side of the bed. Barely awake she grabbed the boy's hand.

"Are you OK?" Darjeeling's voice was like honey to Richard's ears. He turned his head towards her. The image of her large blue eyes reflected in his, soothing his soul. Even so early in the morning, barely awakened, she was as beautiful as a rose.

"I'm… fine… thank you. Just a dream… reminiscing the old days."

"Sleep," she mumbled, and sunk her head back into the pillow. Her hand was still firmly holding his. Richard gently detached Darjeeling from him, one finger at a time, and got out of bed. He walked to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face and got in the shower. Sixteen minutes later, he was in the kitchen, looking as if he had woken up hours, not minutes before, but to back his fresh look with a fresh mind, he had to drink his morning tea.

Lottie was still in Britain. He couldn't beat her tea making skills, but Richard was a close second. While the kettle was heating over the flame, he pondered the meaning of his dream. After a few moments, he decided that there was no meaning, so he simply sat on his chair in the room, waiting for the water to start boiling. Only after taking a sip of his tea could he proceed with his day, make breakfast for Darjeeling and whatever else he had planned but couldn't remember in his state.

To that point, everything happened exactly as it always did, but something changed that morning. Something happened that had never happened before. The consequences of having slept for only four hours so many nights in a row finally caught up with Richard. Before he could wake his brain with some Earl Grey, he doze off.

* * *

Something was flying through the air… it left a trail behind… of blood… a tooth. Time slowed as Richard's blood was oversaturated with adrenaline. His elbow had just detached from one of his opponents' mouth. Next, he brought his knee in another man's stomach, the swung his foot into his last opponent's face. They were all on the ground. Richard looked at watch. "Fourteen seconds," he mumbled… a new record.

"Damn it, Richie! I had that!" Beka cried. "Why do you always encourage violence?"

"Did you see how they were looking at you?" Richard said. He wiped the blood on his face. It wasn't his. "They'd have sooner raped you than listened to you."

"I can take care of myself," Beka said.

"I know you can," Richard said. "But people like those don't deserve a second chance."

* * *

Steam rushed out of the kettle, making a distinct whistling sound, but much louder than Richard was used to hearing. He looked at his phone. 5:58 AM. Good thing he didn't fall asleep with the tea in the pot, lest it ended up too bitter. He got up, poured extra water in the kettle and put it back on the stove. He still couldn't think straight. Until the caffeine in his tea lifted the clouds from his senses, he felt like Monty. And it did. After infusing the brew for exactly three minutes and fifty seconds, he took the first sip. Slowly but steadily, he started to focus. He connected his phone to the wireless in the house and checked out the news. He scrolled down thought the morning bulletin between sips. Nothing piqued his interest.

At 6:16 AM, he had finished his tea and washed the cup, pot and kettle. Just like every morning, it was time for some exercise. As he counted his push ups, his mind once more wondered about the meaning of his dreams. In the few minutes he had dozed off, he was reminded of a terrible part of his life. Was it all worth it – all the blood, all the fighting? Was the net gain positive? Had he actually changed the world for the better?

"When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago," Richard said to himself. "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." He cleared his mind of all thoughts and focused on his body, the weight of his torso pushing down on his arms, the blood rushing through his veins, his heart pumping like a clock. Thinking about the past was pointless. To achieve inner peace he had to accept he could not change it and instead focus on atoning for his sins. "Ninety nine, one hundred."

At 7:30 AM, with his work finished, he took another shower then rushed back to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He was behind schedule. Everything had to be finished and perfect before eight, when Darjeeling normally woke up. Omelette? No, Darjeeling said she wasn't feeling well the previous night. Something lighter was preferable. A salad, some garlic bread and the classic black tea worked, and to top it off, except for the tea, it could be served cold, so Richard didn't have to wake up his girl if she was sleepy.

The pillow was so soft and the sheets so warm that Darjeeling didn't want to wake up, but her inner clock told her it was getting late. She sat up on the bed and stretched her arms. Like always, Richard wasn't in bed. Sometimes he'd come wake her up, or even serve her breakfast in bed, but he'd always get up before her. She took a quick – at least by girl standards – trip to the bathroom, and half an hour later, she was in the kitchen.

A sweet fragrance of spices, faint but noticeable, was present in the air. The table was set; breakfast was served. No matter how many times she saw it, Darjeeling couldn't believe that someone who had spent their childhood in luxury, surrounded by servants, would go to such lengths to serve someone else.

Richard simply waited in an armchair, reading a book. Virginia Woolf, _To the Lighthouse_, a difficult read, Darjeeling noted. Having finally noticed her presence, the boy gave her a smile. "Good morning, darling." He put the book down and stood up, then gestured towards the table. "Shall we?"

"Good morning," Darjeeling said. He had already changed, but she was still wearing her long nightdress. Despite that, she moved with the same elegance as always. "Did you sleep well?"

"Great," Richard said. The usual bright smile decorating his face was as refreshing as a cup of freshly brewed tea. "Will you join me for some jogging this morning?"

"I'd love to," Darjeeling said.

"You'd have to change, though, unless you plan on going out in the nightdress."

Darjeeling giggled. "Of course not, silly. I've brought a sport outfit with me last night." Richard chuckled. He expected it. After all, she was the same girl that had gone to a tea party with a spare tennis outfit, for some reason.

The breakfast was delicious. Darjeeling would have licked her fingers had it not been unladylike. While Richard washed the dishes, she returned to the bathroom, let her dress fall to the floor and put on her jogging clothes.

The two walked to the park, Darjeeling firmly attached to Richard's arm, then started their run. After a few kilometres, the girl was starting to slow down. Her stamina was well above average, but with little formal training, there was only so far she could jog. Richard noticed and slowed down. Normally, he'd run for one hour straight, or around ten kilometres, but he had to settle for four that day. On the way back, Richard bought Darjeeling orange juice and the two sat on a bench for a few minutes.

By the time they got home, it was 9:20 AM. "Oh my, I'm sweaty again… I'll take another shower and be on my way to the Tea Garden," Darjeeling said.

"Of course, darling, take your time." He was tempted to tease – it was the perfect time to suggest saving water – but he was dead serious about their relationship and wouldn't do anything to put it at risk. Darjeeling was the perfect lady, far superior to even Englishwomen. She had no blue blood, for as far as he knew, but behaved herself like the most elegant of lasses. There was no one better for him, of that he was certain.

Richard Stanfield had two major sides. He was the mixing of two cultures, old and new. On one side, he was a gentleman of blue blood who played the violin and piano, drank two cups of tea a day, had extensive knowledge of literature, and attended balls and soirees – the heir of a bloodline one millennia old, who held the future of one of Britannia's oldest noble families in hand. One the other side, he was a typical modern teenager who like playing the guitar, having his own rock band with a lead singer who was ironically also his maid, watch films, ride fast cars and motorcycles and practice sports.

Like any other charming teenager, he loved to tease and flirt whenever he got the chance, but for the most part, he held back. He didn't want to lead on and break the hearts of girls that too easily became infatuated with him. With Darjeeling, it was different. He was cautions, almost scared to act rashly around her, as to not do her any wrong. Even for someone as charismatic as him, his lack of experience showed. She was, after all, his first real girlfriend. Even in Germany, when his morals weren't exactly at their best, he hadn't messed around much. It was ironic that he had as much to say about his love life as Wellington, his borderline anti-social friend.

While Darjeeling was in the shower, Richard ran a few more kilometres on the treadmill, to make up for the short morning jog. "Besides, I don't anything else to do before taking my third morning shower."

"What?!" Wellington's voice echoed from the other side of the line, causing Richard to almost drop his phone. "That can't be healthy."

"Whatever, mate… why are you calling?" Richard asked.

"We have club matters to discuss. When do you have time?"

"What time is it?"

"9:40."

"Let's see…" Richard said. "At ten I'll practice the violin for an hour… then I need to make lunch… At one o'clock sharp I'll be at your office."

"Can I listen to you play?" Darjeeling's voice came from behind. Still on the treadmill, Richard looked back. The next instant, his jaw dropped, as well as his phone that hit the ground hard enough for the battery to pop out. He stopped dead in his tracks, but the belt was still moving. Swept off his feet, both figuratively and literally, only his quick reflexes stopped him from faceplanting into the ground. Darjeeling was standing at the bathroom door, her voluptuous body clad in nothing but a towel. "Oh my, are you OK?" she asked. Richard looked up at her from the floor – completely stunned and speechless, he could only gape.

"I'm… fine, thank you," he finally said. Still dazed, he tried to regain his composure. "You just… caught me by surprise."

As if only then realizing how she looked, Darjeeling went back into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she remerged dressed in her usual clothes. Richard couldn't help but wonder if she had done it on purpose. Was she trying to tell him something? Maybe he was overthinking it.

"So, can I listen?" Darjeeling asked again.

"Of course," the boy said. Having enough time to recover while Darjeeling was getting dressed, his smile returned. "How's about Bach's _Badinerie_?"


	48. One o'clock talk

"Richard, come in," Wellington said. The boy complied. Inside, he was greeted, as expected, by the sight of a faintly glowing fireplace, Eton's glorious strategist sitting in one armchair and his cousin half-asleep in another. "How was your third shower?" Wellington asked, bleeding sarcasm.

"Refreshing," Richard said. "So, what's the problem?" He sat down on a chair and poured himself the rest of the tea in the pot on Wellington's desk. It wasn't exactly hot, but it had to do.

"The finals allow for up to 30 tanks. That will be problematic," Wellington said. "I wish we had more than eight Comets. We've wasted resources on the Fireflies. I'll try to get them traded for more Comets, but I don't think I'll succeed. We're short on tanks."

"Yeah, when we first bought those five Crusader Mark II tanks, I thought we'd only use them for training," Monty said. As if risen from the grave, he stretched his arms and yawned. "Then the Federation increased the maximum number of tanks allowed and look at us, fielding bloody Crusaders Mark II on three of our four battles. This would be so funny if it weren't so sad."

Wellington sighed. Monty was partially right. They were fielding obsolete tank models. Other than their battle against Gordost, they were like the Germans during the early stages of Barbarossa, wining through tactics alone against superiorly equipped enemies. "While the Mark II is obviously inferior to the Mark III in almost every way, don't forget how I used them. They were nothing more than APCs to transport a large enough amount of people around the battlefield to lay traps. They weren't used in battle, so it didn't matter they had a weaker gun and armour, it only mattered they could hold five people and were decently fast."

"Wait, you planned for that all along?" Monty asked.

"More or less," Wellington said. "The only source that could supply us with quality British tanks on such a short notice had a limited arsenal at the time. Better to have some obsolete tanks than no tanks at all. I knew they'd be useful for training, but I also knew I'd find other guerrilla missions for them as well."

"Come to think of it, I never understood, how the bloody hell did we jump from fielding Crusaders to Fireflies and Comets?" Monty asked.

"It's not a matter of money; it's a matter of time – for us, at least." Wellington adjusted his position in the armchair, took the last sip from his tea and continued with the explanation. "It takes a while to upgrade a normal tank to Federation specifications, and even more to build it from scratch. Every school has its source, but the older the school the more time it had to build up an arsenal. Frankly, it's a miracle we've managed to get our hands on so many tanks given we're into Sensha-dou for barely a year. We have to thank the Crown for that – the first batch was just what our source had lying around, the second batch was a nice donation from the British Army. And now I'm bugging them for another donation. Hopefully they'll exchange our 17 pounder armed tanks for more Comets."

"I thought that back home they didn't care much about Sensha-dou," Monty said.

"They don't. But they can't have us humiliated either," Wellington said. "At the very least, they expected us to put up a good fight."

"You haven't disappointed, have you?" Richard asked.

"Oh… you have no idea," Wellington said. As a matter of fact, things had been going spectacularly well. He knew his achievements would get him a better deal with the army, but he never expected the Armoured Regiments to fight over him.

"This will be a difficult match," Monty said. "Our best tank is the equivalent of their worst…"

"Not really, but you have a point. A direct fight would be suicide. Luckily, you have me on your side."

"So, what do you need me for?" Richard asked.

"Use your connections. See if you can get us more tanks." Wellington glared, but not at his friend. His gaze was focused into the distance, as always pondering his options.

"I'll see what I can do," Richard said. "Where's Gandhi? I have seen him in a while."

"He's too busy with his violin lessons," Wellington said. "Sensha-dou comes second. It's a pity really… he would have made a good commander."

"Do we really need any more?" Richard asked. "We lost Heinz, sure, but we still have you, Darjeeling, Patton, Monty and Churchill. That's five commanders. And you said Assam is studying up too. We don't have that many squadrons."

"Not really. Patton isn't as good as Heinz was. The only good squadron commanders in Eton are Darjeeling and I. Monty has talent, but he can't handle the stress. He's of great help at the planning table, but we can't rely on him in the heat of battle."

"I head that," Monty waved his hands around and sunk deeper into the armchair. "And I agree."

"Churchill's just as good as Monty at the planning table, even if only because he's awake more often, but in battle he's worse." Wellington let out a short sign. "I don't want to criticize them, they're great, and unlike most schools we can pride ourselves with a lot of smart guys, but against a monster like Roosevelt, we need even more."

"What about Assam?" Richard asked.

"I'm teaching her strategy, not tactics. I need help analysing the enemy – that's what keeps me up at night. Besides, it would be a waste of time to re-specialize her given her gunnery experience. Gandhi lacks experience and practice, but unlike Monty, he is very good at handling stress. He will become great at both strategy and tactics, if only he finds the time." Unfortunately, no matter how much he studied, his teacher always demanded more. Wellington could have asked Richard to pull some strings and get that woman off Ghandi's back, or do it himself, but there wasn't enough time until the finals to bother.

"Oh, and I've been meaning to ask you. Why don't you force my cousin into more stressful situations? He'll never learn if you keep him cosy in the Tortoise."

"Shut up, cousin!" Monty cried from the armchair.

"By God, he already blames me for overworking him! Besides, his synergy with Ryuu is superior to anything he could achieve as a squadron commander," Wellington said.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Beg your pardon?"

"He's successfully weaponised math. Ryuu is a decent shot, but because he does not aim properly, he is inept at long-range fire. Monty, on the other hand, can calculate complex firing solutions on the fly, but he lacks the experience and talent to actually take the shots. Together, your cousin and Ryuu complement each other very well, giving them a combined effective level close to Sharpe's. Trust me, I've thought this through very much. This is _the_ best combination of crew we can have."

* * *

By 3 PM, the rest of the commanders had gathered and the small meeting had turned into a veritable briefing. Wellington laid his plans on the table for all to see. It wasn't long until the finals and he wanted everyone up to date. The crews would be briefed only before the battle, to prevent leaks, but those present in the room, Darjeeling, Assam, Patton, Churchill, Richard and Monty were undoubtedly loyal.

"Ideally, we would have sabotaged their tanks one day before the battle," Wellington said. "But it would have been too difficult to find an excuse for such a late visit. As it is, we couldn't sabotage them, lest they found out before the battle, rendering the entire act obsolete."

"Then what did we do? Why did we send Patton in?" Darjeeling asked.

The boy jumped with joy at the opportunity to explain his daring espionage mission, but Wellington stepped in before he could start. "Patton was to get us a backdoor into their closed network and gather intel on the quality of their tanks. For that purpose, he planted a wireless bug into their school server, investigated their tanks as we did the hacking, and then returned to retrieve the bug. Simple and clean."

"And the result?" Darjeeling asked.

"Well, you read Patton's report, I hope," Wellington said. "I had my fingers crossed they wouldn't keep their tanks in top shape, but he says they're well maintained. So we can't expect on them to break down during the fight." Except for Top's tank, that was. Remembering that, Wellington pulled Richard to the side. "Guess what, your plan failed," Wellington whispered. "Top started his tank and the engine stalled. They changed the fuel and fixed it. I told you it was too risky."

"Just as planned," Richard said.

"What? You said–" Baffled, Wellington could only gape at his friend.

"Do you know where I got the idea to sabotage their tanks?" Richard asked.

"From your infinite well of knowledge?" Wellington retorted.

"That's where I got the idea to spike with bleach, but the act of sabotage itself…" Richard paused for a moment and chuckled. "I caught a guy from Roosevelt trying to do something to our Rolls-Royce Meteors. I… interrogated him. Tell me, how easy would it have been to get new engines?"

"Not very…" Wellington muttered.

"Well, then you should be happy I stopped the saboteur. The bleach was my personal revenge."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Wellington asked.

"Because I wasn't sure you would have agreed," Richard said. Wellington let out a long sigh. "Now you wish we would have sabotaged them more?"

"No," Wellington said. "It would have been pointless. They have the funds and sources to replace parts with ease."

"Are we done?" Darjeeling asked. "I have tea at four."

"One final thing." Wellington turned back towards his commanders. "We'll have a change in crew layout. Unless we get more Comets, Sharpe will man the Black Prince's gun. This way the BP will be able to snipe side by side with the Tortoise. The Challengers will require Richard's driving skills and Gendou's strength to reload. I also need a capable gunner for, since I'll be commanding from it and I need it alive, so Assam will operate the 17 pounder." The girl nodded. Despite being left without her usual gunner, Darjeeling didn't seem to mind. "The rest of the crew positions remain unchanged. That should be everything related to crew optimisation. Squadron command will be allocated once I finish writing down my plan. Any questions?" Silence was his answer. "Good. _Bon appetite_ at tea."


	49. Interlude 2

Wellington's office rapidly emptied as everyone went their own way. Darjeeling and Assam rushed back to the Tea Garden as to not be late for tea, Patton went to the garage to spend more time with his favourite tanks and Churchill probably intended to go to the library to read a book. Only Monty remained inside Wellington's office, preferring to sink back into the armchair and take a nap. His behaviour was bordering on the absurd. He wasted night hours and slept through the day. It couldn't have been healthy for his brain, but Wellington had bigger issues for the moment. He would talk with Monty after the finals.

"Richard," Wellington called. "Don't forget to try getting us more Comets. And if you get the chance, try to look into Jajka's whereabouts. I got a strange call from her a while back and I'm concerned."

"About her?" Richard asked. Wellington realized how it sounded. He looked his friend straight in the eyes, trying to discern how he interpreted it, but Richard wasn't jesting, instead he had on a perfect poker face.

"I'm not so heartless," Wellington said. "She was crying on the phone, Richard. I want you to find out if it was another one of her manipulative acts or not."

"Why don't you just call her?" Richard asked.

"I did. She switches the subject. That's what leaves me wondering. I need your detective skills on this."

"I'll see what I can do," Richard said. "I have a visit to Roosevelt scheduled this evening."

"And I one to Gordost."

"Peter is awfully friendly lately." Richard raised his eyebrow. Lately, Mr. Saburov got to spend more time with Wellington than he did.

"I have a bad feeling about this one. There's been a lot of traffic between Homer and Lenin," Wellington said.

"Homer? Lenin?" Richard looked puzzled. That was a whole new level of nicknames Wellington reached.

"Maclean? Cambridge Five?"

Richard's face lit up as if a figurative light bulb turned itself on above his head. Wellington was talking about Zhukov, a reference to the codename of a Soviet spy from the Cambridge Five, and Lenin was how he occasionally called Peter. "Why talk in code? Monty's in on it."

"The walls have ears…" Wellington said.

"That didn't stop you last time." Richard rubbed his forehead. "What exactly did they discuss?"

"An argument on Homer's efficiency… or lack thereof." Wellington let out a short sigh. "I don't know how it started. It's been a while since the match. I expected it to happen earlier and blow over by now."

"Just be careful," Richard said. "Last thing we want is to blow the tiger's cover."


	50. High Treason

Once more, Wellington found himself in the guest room aboard Admiral Kuznetsov. Peter was kind enough to serve him tea and biscuits, like usual, but this time the atmosphere was tense. There was no talk about deep battle, or manoeuvre warfare or even girls; instead, a heavy silence permeated the room. Wellington was losing his patience.

"OK, Peter, this is getting silly, why did you call me?"

Gordost's captain had a frown rarely seen by the glorious strategist. Wellington wasn't scared, but he wasn't exactly relaxed either. After leaving the question unanswered for a few moments, Peter looked Wellington straight in the eye. "Our spy is the boy you call Zhukov," he said. "I wash my hands of him; punish that incapable fool as you see fit."

After a few more seconds of silence, Wellington raised an eyebrow, then burst into laughter. Peter expected his guest to be surprised, to exclaim in realization, to be angry, not roll on the floor holding his stomach. "That was sudden!" Wellington said between guffaws. "Why tell me now?"

Wellington's calm was vexing and caused Peter's scowl to depend. He had just revealed that Eton had a spy in their midst, yet their commander barely reacted. Someone as choleric as Eton's glorious strategist should have cussed or at least frowned, but there was no such reaction from Peter's guest. "He has failed me. I don't even want to keep that card up my sleeve."

Slowly coming out of his laughing fit, Wellington let out a short sigh. "You really don't give a tinker's cuss about him, do you?" His smile gave in to melancholy. His stare lost into the distance, he remembered the past. They used to be like brothers. With Richard in Germany, Wellington spent time with a still young and impressionable Zhukov. They talked the day away, best of friends, rarely apart. But all things must come to an end, and there was no point to dwell on the past. The sour gloom that filled Wellington's mind turned to the bittersweet of nostalgia, then pragmatic acceptance. Once more, he sighed. It was fun while it lasted, but it was time to move on – now his friend was his own man. Wellington's gaze refocused, he glared at his host. "You're spy was not incapable, Peter, simply careless. Zhukov has many flaws, but a fool he is not. I simply had him in my pocket." A smug smile crept on his face, reflecting a satisfaction like that of a poker player revealing a royal flush.

"So he lied to me all along…" Peter muttered.

"Not at all. He was honest, but he only knew what I allowed…" Wellington adjusted his position in the chair. He had gotten away easily. The real spy's identity was not in peril.

But his mental celebration was short lived. Peter was not satisfied. "Who is your spy?" he asked.

"What spy?" Wellington asked, feigning innocence in the most obvious way, as if taunting his host. He couldn't hide Beka's existence, but at least he could hide her identity. Sarcasm was his final weapon, and he enjoyed using it against Peter's interrogation.

"Don't try to fool me, Wellington."

"All the business of war and indeed all the business of life is to endeavour to find out what you don't know by what you do. That's called guessing what is at the other side of the hill," Wellington shrugged.

"There's guessing and there's knowing. How did you get access to information only available to my squadron commanders?" Peter cried.

Wellington flinched. His eyes grew wide. "What?" His reaction was so genuine it even weakened Peter's confidence for a moment. Beka was kind enough to provide plans that Wellington presumed had been distributed to everyone. They were indeed very detailed; he had asked himself why Peter had briefed his crews so early before the match, but ultimately dismissed it as a simple mistake.

"Is the spy from the Night Witches? Did Richard seduce one of our girls? But when? He barely visited. On the side?" Peter kept asking in vain, hoping some sort of divine inspiration would reveal the answers to him. It wasn't the first time he was babbling, and he wasn't any closer to discerning the spy's identity.

"We've already been through this," Wellington said. "Even if there was a spy, why the bloody hell would I give away his identity?"

"So it's a boy! No… can't be. They wouldn't betray Gordost. That would be treason!" Peter cried, reopening in Wellington's heart a wound that had just been closed.

"And what you had Zhukov do is not?" Wellington asked, irritated for the first time in the evening. Peter didn't answer. "I should be even more pissed. He was my friend."

"Everyone in the club is my friend!" Peter cried. "I care deeply for everyone! It has to be a girl. But only Natasha knew… and she wouldn't."

"It was Beka!"

Out of nowhere, the soft yet aloof voice of Natasha Saburov rang. She had entered the room while they were arguing and was leaning on the back of Wellington's chair, letting her long platinum hair fall on his shoulders. The boy looked up and gave her an inquisitive look that was left unreturned. Natasha's head loomed over him, but her disinterested stare was instead aimed at her brother. Peter was as silent as a tomb, however – as if his mind had stopped working, or the opposite, was overloaded with thoughts.

"Where did you get that idea?" Wellington asked.

"Stop denying, _Gospodin_ Wellington, I know!" Natasha said. She looked down at him and winked, with a confidence that would have flustered the boy had he not remember how she behaved around Richard.

"Bollocks," Wellington said. He was unwillingly giving himself away, since he only cursed when he was stressed, but as luck had it, nobody at Gordost knew that yet.

As Wellington argued with Natasha, Peter stared confused into the distance. "How did Beka get a hold of the plans?" he asked. The more he thought the more it bugged him. "No, it couldn't have been her. Besides, how would you know she's the spy, Natasha?"

"Because I allowed it," Natasha said.

Wellington's jaw dropped, he stared wide-eyed at the girl. Peter, on the other side, simply chuckled for a second, before giving his sister a glare. "Don't be silly Natasha, I'm not amused," he said. "Whoever sent Eton those plans is a traitor to us all and I will have their head!"

"I gave Beka those plans, brother, and asked her to send them to Eton!"

"What?!" Wellington cried.

"You've been too involved in Sensha-dou lately, brother, more so than with any of the private tournaments. You love it more than you love us… more than you love me," Natasha said. With every word, her confidence slowly waned, her voice started subtly shaking, but she continued. "Your pride consumed you, so I had to hurt it like it hurt me!" Natasha cried. Her rant finished, she stood straight, ready to take on her brother's counterattack… It didn't go as expected.

"You spoiled brat! You cost us the tournament!" Peter shouted. He jumped to his feet and slammed his palm into the table.

Natasha had underestimated how angry Peter would be. His yells left her gaping, what little confidence she had left shattered. Large tears started rolling down her eyes. _"Baka nii-chan!"_ she cried and ran out of the room, bawling her eyes out.

Wellington looked at the door, than at Peer, then back at the door… It was the second time he heard her speak Japanese. Normally, she'd just speak English mixed with some occasional Russian, go full native when she was angry enough to lose control, but when she was truly shaken, she'd switch to Japanese, for some reason. Her brother's anger had ravaged her.

The traces of anger on Peter's face vanished. His frown softened as he realized what he'd done to his sister. He didn't want to admit it, but he regretted he lashed out at her, whether she deserved it or not. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said. "Maybe I was too hard on her… She has a point… even if her revenge was a bit exaggerated."

"Just a bit?" Wellington asked.

Peter got up and offered Wellington a handshake. "Congratulations. You've won the information war and my respect."

"Your respect? Just now?" Wellington asked.

"I respect you more now."

* * *

On the flight back to Eton all Wellington did was reflect. It all made sense – all the pieces of the puzzle came together.

Even before the tournament officially began, he knew that, of all his potential opponents, Gordost and Roosevelt were the most dangerous, so he and Richard promptly started looking for ways to infiltrate them. Roosevelt's isolationism made progress nigh impossible, but, soon after the battle with Pravda, Richard found out that an old friend from Germany had recently joined Gordost. That friend was Beka.

It was obvious she was a potential way in, and, for a short time, Wellington considered contacting her, but ultimately decided against it. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't bring himself to ask her to betray her schoolmates. Richard agreed, not only because of the moral implications, but also because he was reluctant to face his past. So they didn't contact her, and Beka remained ignorant to their plight.

They started looking for other ways to infiltrate Gordost, until Beka herself knocked on their door, shattering Richard's hopes of avoiding her. He refused at first, but there was only so much pressure he could take until finally agreeing to organize a rendezvous. After a short while, the girl even befriended Wellington, giving him further reason not to ask her to betray her people. He had come to respect the hot-blooded redhead, despite Richard's dismissive attitude towards her.

With no other apparent option to infiltrate, Wellington was ready to give up. Then, out of nowhere, Beka offered to be their inside agent of her own volition. The offer came as a massive surprise to both him and Richard, leaving them utterly speechless, yet they accepted.

Wellington was suspicious at first, but ultimately chalked it up to coincidence and a dislike for Gordost. Of course, he wasn't about to take Beka's word at face value. Richard vouched for her honesty, both because of their past and because he sensed she wasn't lying, and he was right. Beka was indeed telling the truth, the info they got by hacking into the school's network showed as much. Behind a weaker defence than Roosevelt, breaking in was a breeze for Monty, even without a bug. They couldn't access everything, so Beka's info was still valuable, but it proved her loyalty, or so Wellington thought. It had never crossed his mind that Natasha was in on it, having allowed it, let alone having ordered it in the first place. Whatever fight Natasha had with her brother must have taken place during the time Beka was meeting him and Richard. Wellington doubted the girl planned it from the start. The idea probably occurred when Beka told her commander in passing about Richard. Yes, that was the most probable explanation.

The aircraft was getting close to Eton. Wellington let out a short sigh. It didn't matter anymore. He had one more trial to past, then he could wash his hands of Sensha-dou. One more match and he would be free.

* * *

A little girl ran through the halls of the snow-covered mansion, her platinum hair bouncing around. Outside, the wind was howling, attacking the windows and walls with all of its might, but the warmth of the house protected those inside.

"Brother, brother, look what I made!" the little girl cried. She ran to her brother with a paper in hand, a little green tank scribbled on it in crayons.

"Not now, Natasha. I'm busy," young Peter said. His tone was as cold as the winter gale that assailed their home, but the girl loved him dearly, so she didn't hold a grudge.

The morning sun shone its light on the shy snowdrops that had popped their heads from under the snow, crowning them with a faint glow. Inside, the little girl got up from the floor. She had stumbled and fallen. Her knees were bruised, he eyes overflowing with tears.

"Brother, I've hit my knee," the little girl whimpered. Her brother was the first person she sought, her beloved brother for he she cared most.

"Go to Sofia, don't bother me!" Peter said. Rejected again, Natasha walked away. She loved him so she couldn't complain.

The years passed and they grew. Natasha became an elegant young woman. Friends came and went, but family remained the most important thing in her heart.

"Brother, brother, I want to drive tanks too!" the teenage girl cried. "Take me with you!"

"Maybe next time, Natasha," her brother said. The girl's patience waned, but at least he wasn't as cold as before. She was angry, but she endured. Yet endure she could only do as much. In time, the young girl started boiling. It wasn't long until she had release all her pent up anger.

"Brother, why won't you help me train!" the young lady asked. Surely there was at least a little time Peter could spare for his little sister.

"Next time, Natasha, I have work to do," Peter made another empty vow.

"It's always next time! I can't stand it anymore!" Natasha cried and waved her hands around. "If you won't help me now, I don't want to see you again!"

"Natasha!" Peter yelled. "Learn to accept a no."

"I have for such a long time! I'm done! I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to have time for me! You love your comrades in the Sensha-dou club more than your family! I'll take the girls and make my own club! I'll show you want it means to treat me like this!" Natasha voiced echoed through the empty room. She stormed off, not looking back. Her brother will eat his words; she'd make sure of it.

Thus, the Night Witches were born, and for a while, the boys and the girls walked separate paths. Unlike their male counterparts, the witches were underfunded, but they endured like the motherland that gave them life. Peter occasionally tried to get back into his sister's graces, but never invested enough time to win her back, until Gordost's participation in the National Tournament was announced. His patience ran out and he made his sister a top priority. After several weeks of courting, the girl finally gave in, and the boys and girls of Gordost were reunited.

Natasha was ecstatic at first. Her beloved brother was finally giving her the attention she wanted, but it didn't last. Not long after the clubs merged, Peter returned to his normal cold self, breaking his sister's heart anew. She went through denial, then spent nights crying herself to sleep. She even considered braking away with the witches again, but that was not right. She could not buy her brother's affection. No, she had to teach him a lesson.

* * *

As soon as Wellington left, Peter went to check on his sister. The girl was crying, her face shoved in a pillow. He sat next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Natasha…" Peter said. "I'm sorry…" The girl didn't react. She kept bawling her eyes out. He hadn't seen her like that since they were children. It was unbearable. He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the bed and into his arms, and hugged her as tightly as he could. "I love you, sister. Of course family is more important than Sensha-dou. I'm sorry."

The girl embraced him with all her might. Tears still rolled down her cheeks like the Svislach and Nyamiha flew through Minsk, but she held onto her brother like she hadn't for years. _"Baka… nii…"_ she cried between fits, still choking on her tears. She barely mustered enough strength to hit Peter's back with her fists, but Peter endured and held her tight.

"It's OK, Natasha," he said. He kissed her head and caressed her hair. "It's OK."


	51. The past catches up, Part 1

_AN: This will probably be the last chapter I post this year. I'll be taking the holidays off. Next chapter comes up on the 8th of January 2016. Chances are I might get inspiration and post another chapter during the holidays, but in case I don't, I wish you all Merry/Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year! See you in 2016!_

* * *

As big as it was, the USS Enterprise still shook noticeably under the relentless charge of the waves. A storm hit the vessel minutes after Richard had landed, grounding his aircraft and trapping him aboard. Compared to the Enterprise who found itself in the middle of a hurricane suspiciously often, and Gordost's Admiral Kuznetsov who somehow functioned despite operating in negative temperatures twelve months a year, Eton was heaven and sanctuary. Richard hoped that at least Wellington was having an easier time on Kuznetsov.

Richard waited in the guest room for a good twenty minutes, alone and bored, with the only benefit of having enough time to fix his dishevelled hair. The wind had done quite a number on it. Just as he finished making himself presentable again, two boys entered. The first was Top, the second, just as tall, but far skinnier, was probably Jack Drake, or 'Command' as Richard understood he was called.

Top was caught up in some conversation with his tactical advisor, although it sounded more like a rant. It was heated enough that Richard's hosts simply ignored him as if he weren't there, despite being obviously aware of his presence.

"I love Kay, but why the fuck she's using those old M4s I have no idea," Top said. "So many fucking early stock M4s, with their shit 75mm M3! And their 76mm is the fucking M4A-fucking-1?! Do they have a fetish for the R-975 engine? What's wrong with the Ford GAA?" Command quietly listened to Top's rant without revealing a single trace of impatience. Richard, on the other hand, was desperately trying to abstain from crossing his arms and tapping his foot. "All their tanks are old variants, and with vertical volute spring suspension nonethe-fucking-less. Oh, and don't get me started on the fucking Firefly! Why the fuck they use a Brit tank, I have no idea! That shit didn't even have a HVSS version and their cannon was so fucking inaccurate. And it's cramped like hell! Why doesn't she upgrade? She has the money!" Top paused for a moment. Richard hoped the rant was finally over and put on the best smile he could muster, albeit with great difficulty. To his chagrin, the conversation continued.

"Like many others, Kay follows foolish ideals about–" Command said, but his booming voice was suddenly interrupted.

"Don't you fucking call Kay foolish!" Top yelled. "I'll cut your tongue." Unimpressed, Command ignored the threat, but didn't retort either. It was pointless and foolhardy to argue. "At least they have the M34A1 gun mount."

"Yes, I jump with joy at the thought," Command mumbled. "Then I shall take my leave. You have guests to attend to," he added. Without giving Richard a single glance, he turned around and headed for the door.

"Yo! Sup, Rich! What brings you here?" After impolitely ignoring him for such a long time, Top finally greeted the boy. "I got the band up and running again. We should hold a battle of the bands!"

"That's great!" Richard said. He could barely stop himself from bursting into laughter. His plan had worked. The reason he organized a concert at Roosevelt wasn't just to distract attention from Patton, but also to provoke Top. He knew the boy was arrogant as hell and would try to top him. He must have trained a lot to get even close to Eton's level, which in turn meant it was weeks before he started up his tank and noticed the sabotage, making Richard's deniability the more plausible.

"Oh, by the way, a week ago I started up the engine on my Sherman and it stalled," Top said.

"Oh my, you should take better care of your machines," Richard said. It was suddenly much easier to keep up his trademark smile.

"You don't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Top asked.

"Me? Seriously, Top, we catch one of your guys trying to blow up our engines and you accuse _me_ of sabotage?" Richard's tone reflected such confidence that not even Top could question any further. Besides, he was put on the defensive by his guest's accusation. Unfortunately for him, with his agent caught and interrogated, there was not much he could do to deny.

"That idiot? He's been expelled," Top said.

"You expect me to believe he did it on his own?" Richard asked.

"I didn't say that. I just said that the idiot has been expelled." So he didn't deny his involvement, but he wasn't admitting it either. Richard looked him in the eye. Top glared back. "If you're that curious, you should know it wasn't my idea. In my opinion, you're not worth the time, but some of the guys got riled up and thought it would be fun," Top said. "You'd know this had you interrogated him properly."

"Torture is illegal, Top," Richard said. "And vulgar."

"I didn't say torture him, but a few well place punches would have gotten him talking more."

"I have more refined ways of persuasion," Richard said. He hadn't beaten information out of anyone since he returned from Germany. He had learned of better ways to get what he wanted since then.

"Don't expect me to thank you for him. I beat him personally when he came back. Had to make an example. He didn't exactly go against my orders, but he done fucked up and made me look bad." The ease with which Top confessed the violence he did to one his own was disgusting. Richard knew his visit wouldn't be enjoyable, but he didn't expect it would be so hard to abstain from punching his host in the face. He took a deep breath. There was one more matter that had to be addressed.

"About that, my boys and I have been under attack by hooligans suspiciously often recently, as if a bounty has been place on our heads. I'm not one to tell you how to play, Top, but I draw the line at terror attacks against loved ones. If you have anything to do with this–"

"Oh, for fuck sake, man, not even I would do that!" Top interrupted. "Now there's breaking the rules and there's breaking the law." His surprise seemed genuine. "And besides, we'll kick your ass so hard, why bother?"

If not for the still present feeling of disgust in his gut, Richard would have chuckled. He couldn't believe that Top didn't order a single act of subterfuge against Eton… He disagreed with Wellington on the scale of the attacks Roosevelt had supposedly launched against them, but not on their existence, yet Top denied everything, and Richard believed him. His senses did not lie. Top was telling the truth.

So Drake didn't cheat because he wanted to prove to himself that he was better, and Top because he was certain of it. Not even Peter was that proud. Who would have imagined Roosevelt was vainer than a school called 'Pride'. "How quaint," Richard said to himself. He had doubted from the beginning that Top was behind it, despite Wellington's conviction, and now he had his proof. For better or worse, Top was not involved in the attacks. A part of Richard was glad that he was right, another not as much, since if Roosevelt was not… then who was?

* * *

Wellington's phone rang just as he got off the chopper. "Beka?" he asked himself, looking at the screen. The noise of the propellers was deafening. It was neither the place nor time for a conversation. He rejected the call. Ten steps later, the phone rang again. "She's insistent…" Wellington mumbled. "Fine." He picked up. "What is it?" he hissed over the still loud howls of the helicopter blades.

"Adie! How are you?" Beka cried.

"Don't call me that," Wellington said. "What is it?"

"Mind if I crash at your place for the weekend?" Beka asked.

The fact that she made the request with such ease did not surprise Wellington, since it was Beka he was dealing with, but the nature left him a bit confused. "What?"

"I mean at Eton," Beka clarified, if those four words could be considered a clarification.

"Why?" Wellington was getting suspicious. Then it occurred to him. How could he be such a fool? In all the confusion, he'd forgotten about her. Her identity had just been revealed. "You're in trouble? I imagined Natasha would endure the blunt of it. Do you need extraction?" Wellington asked, all serious.

Beka burst into laughter. "Nah, Adie, but I'm moved you care. You're so sweet!"

Wellington sighed. "Don't scare me like that."

"Aww, I'd give you a hug if I were there."

"Then what is the issue?" Wellington asked.

"Well, Natalie said she'd cover for me, but if Ivan went berserk he might try to attack me and I don't want him to get hurt."

"Him to get hurt?" Wellington asked, then remember who it was he was talking to. "I see… very well, you can 'crash' any time."

"Thanks, Adie!" Beka cried.

"So, what happened? What did Peter do?" Wellington asked.

"He forgave her."

"Really? I'm not privy to the exact details behind her actions, but I'd say she got off a bit too easy," Wellington said.

"Oh, common Addie! Mercy is a virtue. Don't forget, to err is human, to forgive is divine."

"I'm curious how Richard would have handled it. He is a very emotional fellow and has difficulty controlling himself. He'd tear a traitor apart. Although he's also a softy, so I guess he'd make exceptions depending on context."

"I… I see he's changed…" Beka said. A minute earlier, Wellington wouldn't have noticed the difference in tone over the noise of the helicopter, but as he walked away, the propellers slowed down and the engine stopped humming, he was able to pick up on it. Regardless, he was too worked up in his rant to be interested in the reasons behind Beka's subtle change. Whatever it was, it had broken through her usual carefree attitude. The faint hesitation and lower pitch gave it away. Wellington wondered if that was how Richard read others. After pondering on it for a moment, he continued his discourse.

"I too am emotional, but I like to think I control my emotions for the most part. My mind is in charge, although I do indulge my heart when I get the chance."

"Whatever you say, Adie," Beka said, back to her normal self. "I'll see you tonight. Kisses! Bye!" As sudden as their conversation started, so it ended. Wellington put his phone back in his pocket and kept walking towards his office.

* * *

"Vanya! No!" Sofia ordered. Darkness had completely engulfed Ivan's expression. His sister's pleas fell on deaf ears. "Vanya!" Sofia cried again.

_"Izviní,_ _starshaya sestra _Sofia, this time I can't listen. I need to punish traitor," Ivan said. His gaze burned with rage as he approached his prey. There was nothing left of the carefree smile that usually decorated his face. His eyes reflected nothing but the pitch-black hatred in his heart. _"Pódlaya! Gryáznaya izménnitsa! Suka!" _The boy spit curses, the vanguard of his attack. It didn't matter it was a girl he was facing; he would bury her. "I show you what happens to traitor at Gordost. I am not nice like brother."

"Oi, oi, Jean, take it easy," Beka said, trying to keep up a smile. Sweat was already going down her nape, adrenaline already pumping through her blood. It must have looked like fear to an outsider, and it was, albeit not for what one would normally expect. Beka giggled nervously, like a young girl put in an awkward situation, like the target of unrequited love being confessed to, but instead of love, it was hatred. "Somebody could get hurt," Beka said.

"You will," Ivan retorted. He cracked his finger joints and without another word, dashed for his pray, like a hungry bear. Suddenly, Beka's gaze focused, her forced smile vanished, the adrenaline in her veins was put to use. No longer were her eyes pleading – any trace of nervousness was gone – Beka was ready for battle.

Under Sofia's worried gaze, Ivan struck like a freight train. There was no holding back. His clenched fist went straight for the girl's skull. With such force, the impact would have knocked Beka out immediately, but it missed. To her, Ivan was overwhelmingly strong, but also painfully slow. In the blink of an eye, the girl was no longer where he aimed his strike. Instead, Ivan gaped as she flew above him, her crimson hair tickling the top of his head. The Kamchatka brown bear was not facing a simple squirrel… he was facing the Siberian tiger.

* * *

Natasha ran, she ran like her life depended on it. Through the familiar hallways, she passed door after door, nothing but a blur in her vision. Her lungs worked at full capacity, gasping for air with every step, her heart pounded in her chest as if trying to burst out. She ran and ran and ran until she felt the freezing air hit her face. It flooded her throat, making it sore, but she still ran. The snow slowed her advance; she tripped, got up and ran again. There was no time to pick the cleared alleys, Natasha cut straight through the fresh mounds of white.

Ivan was breathing heavily. He couldn't keep up with the spry tiger. If only a single hit would land, it would be over, but he struck to no avail. "Stop moving so I can hit you!" he shouted.

"Oi, Jean, please stop. I don't want to hurt you," Beka said.

"Vanya!" a cry from afar. It wasn't Sofia – she was speechless. Ivan was too enraged to listen or look. Berserk, he didn't notice the frozen tears on Natasha's cheeks that reflected the setting sun's light. Behind her, Peter tried to keep up, swimming through the soft snow.

One more punch Beka dodged, and another, but the third was not so simple to avoid. Blinded by hatred, Ivan didn't notice when his little sister jumped right between him and his prey. Her eyes closed, Natasha didn't anticipate the blow. But Beka wouldn't let an innocent bystander get hurt. Quick on her feet, she grabbed the young girl and redirected her momentum, pushing her away from the blow. Ivan's fist went right between their noses, near missing them both. But the move was too fast to be elegant. Unable to maintain her balance, Beka went down with Natasha in tow. She made sure to protect her friend's head as she hit the icy earth. The ground greeted her like a lover she hadn't visited in years. The cold crept up her spine as she lay defenceless.

Ivan hesitated for a second before rage refilled his mind. Blinded by his hatred, he raised his arm to strike down at his hopeless enemy. Finally, he could deliver justice to the spry traitor. With Natasha in her arms, Beka could do nothing. With her left arm, she shielded her friend's face, lest she became collateral damage, and the right she aimed desperately to try and block Ivan's strike. She could barely see… the setting was positioned right behind Ivan. But the strike didn't come. As the orange light slowly shone its last for the day, Beka noticed a towering figure standing between Ivan and his prey.

"Get out of my way, _brat_," Ivan hissed, but the figure didn't move. Peter simply stood like a statue in front of his brother. He didn't even lift his arms as a guard. He simply stared his twin down with the gaze of a warrior, and indomitable glare that pierced through the twilight.

"Stand down," Peter ordered. For the first time in years, he stood up to his brother rather than have his big sister clean up the mess. Two simple words, but spoken with the resolution of a true leader. It was not Ivan's little twin brother that made a request, it was Gorodst's captain that gave a command.

Ivan didn't budge. His arm still in the air, he stared back. But the rage in his eyes was nothing compared to the steadfast determination in Peter's. The icy glare was like frostbite, overwhelming the inferno is Ivan's soul, so cold that one would swear it could freeze hell itself. And it did. Ivan turned his back on his sibling and walk away. "You are all fools. Traitor should die traitor's death. Beka should go to gulag for what she's done."

New tears rolled down Natasha's cheeks, eager to join their frozen comrades that were already biting at the girl's skin. "There, there, Natalie," Beka said, caressing her friend's head. "Everything will be fine."

Sofia was finally able to move. She quietly ran to her young sister and helped her get up. "Natashenka, we need to get you inside. You'll catch a cold," she said. Like a caring mother, the girl took her sister away, leaving Peter and Beka alone.

Still on the ground, Beka looked up. Peter offered her a hand. His face betrayed no emotion, neither good nor bad. "I'll be away for the weekend," the girl said.

Her captain pulled her up to her feet. "That would be best."

* * *

At the helicopter Peter was kind enough to provide, Beka found Ivan lying in wait. Her senses, toned by years of experience, detected no killer intent from the boy. He had taken his brother's, no, his captain's words to heart. "Running to your masters, _suka_?" he asked. Beka remained silent. Her hands were tucked in her trouser pockets, her face devoid of any smile. She simply walked right past him. A step behind the boy, she stopped.

Annoyed, Ivan aimed a punch at the air right next to her head, a final warning, close enough to scare a normal girl, but otherwise harmless. He wanted to get one final reaction from her before moving on. He expected to see her flinch. He was wrong. The tiger was not an ordinary girl. The moment he turned around and threw the punch, Ivan was not greeted by the expected sight of Beka's defenceless back. Instead, his eyes met hers, focused in a glare that left him breathless. His heart skipped a beat. He didn't even notice his fist stopping halfway through its motion. A sharp pain surged through the bones of his fingers. Beka had blocked his attack and was crushing his fist in hers. Ivan clenched his teeth in pain, struggling not to show it on the outside.

"Oi, Jean," Beka said. Her glare and tone were unnaturally cold compared to how she normally behaved. The sweet and friendly mask was off. It was the first time Ivan saw her angry. "Don't put your sister in danger again. I don't give third chances."

_"Shlyukha, _let go," Ivan said. "I'd never harm _mladshaya sestra_." He was a fool to underestimate her. Had he used his full strength, Beka wouldn't have been able to block him. His mistake had put him at a disadvantage. Ignoring the pain, he jerked his hand away. The girl let go.

"Hey, you gonna get in or not?" the helicopter pilot cried. Beka took a step back, then turned around and boarded the transport. Its propellers started moving faster and faster, blowing the snow from the pad. Ivan kept starting at the vehicle as it took flight until it vanished into the distance.

The freezing wind did nothing to cool the anger still burning in the boy's heart. Only time could extinguish it completely and dull the pain of betrayal. _"Altinnovo vora veshayut, a poltinnovo chestvuyut," _Ivan mumbled and started his walk back home.

* * *

_Author's note: I don't normally explain the foreign words I use, but I'll make an exception for once because this is more relevant than usually. With the exception of the final line of dialogue, it's mostly curses and various ways of saying "brother" and "sister". The last line of dialogue, however, is special._

Алты́нного во́ра ве́шают, а полти́нного че́ствуют. It's a Russian proverb. English pronunciation: _Altinnovo vora veshayut, a poltinnovo chestvuyut._ Literal Meaning: T_he thief who stole an altyn (3 coins) is hung, and the one who stole a poltinnik (50 coins) is praised._ Interpret the meaning as you wish.


	52. Interlude 3

_Author's Note: Merry Christmas everyone. Best wishes and a Happy New Year! Here's a little Christmas gift for my readers._

* * *

The full moon shone blindingly in the night sky. The clean ocean air allowed the stars to display their full glory to anyone who looked up. It wasn't often that Wellington paused from his tedious routine to enjoy the beauty of nature. Assam rested her head on his shoulder. They'd met at his office – the girl had been waiting for him. On the way home, they took a detour through the park. It proved to be a good decision. Like a galactic painting, the splendour of the heavens enraptured the eyes.

The smell of Assam's perfume and the faint warmth of her skin brushing against his delighted the boy's senses. It was really ironic just how cynical he had been mere months before only to find himself in such a lovey dovey situation. Wellington put his arm around her shoulder, and they kept staring at the sky. For a good twenty minutes, no words were exchanged. Simple silence accompanied as the two enjoyed each other's presence and the spectacle above.

It's strange how the mind wonders. As he stared at stars, Wellington's mind did just that. First, the thought of his fellow students suffering because of him made his heart ache. They were innocent bystanders, victimized for no reason other than being in the Sensha-dou club he commanded. The last thing he wanted was for Assam to get caught in it. Almost instinctively, he pulled the girl closer to him. He was no martial artist like Beka and Richard, nor was he dexterous like Sharpe or strong like Castus, but he wanted to protect that young lady with all he had.

Perhaps those who complained about boys entering Sensha-dou weren't completely wrong. Wellington found even the best commanders that took part in previous tournaments lacking and agreed that the newcomers had brought much-needed fresh blood, but he was starting to have doubts on whether it had been worth it. Incidents were few and far between before the Federation changed the admission rules. While spying and other minor rule bending occurred, in only one year, schools had started sabotaging, putting bounties on each other and God knew what else. Then again, it was mostly Roosevelt who did all those things… it would have been unfair to blame all boys.

Wellington wasn't exactly happy with how low he had sunk either, even if he kept telling himself it was necessary, even if he hadn't reached Top's level. He couldn't wait for Richard to return and confirm his theories about Roosevelt. In the back of his head, there was an ever-present doubt. What if he was wrong? What if it all was all a coincidence? The yanks were a convenient way to explain everything, but the truth wasn't always convenient. Ultimately, it mattered not. He'd get his answers when Richard returned.

Without even realizing it, he ended up thinking about Jajka. The mere thought of her provoked disgust, not because she was unattractive, quite the opposite, but because Wellington found her personality appalling. Why where the most gorgeous women also the most callous, manipulative or just plain evil? It was a rhetorical question – Wellington knew the answer too well.

Power corrupted, and few resisted that corruption. Richard had it all, but he didn't let it consume him because he knew what it meant to have nothing. Darjeeling… Wellington wasn't sure why she was so noble… perhaps an inherent idealism. Then there was Kay. She was still young and naïve, but chances were she wouldn't stay such a good girl once she grew up. They were the three people Wellington knew that were on top of the social food chain but still decent folk. Heinz and Peter were nice enough too, but he wasn't about to bet his life on their moral fibre.

For examples from the other side of the spectrum, Wellington could simply look at everyone else. Top behaved like a scumbag, and Wellington hadn't even scratched the surface. Jajka was also a manipulative, brazen little hussy. God knew how many men she'd seduced to get her way. That was probably what ultimately came back to bite her in the end, the reason for all of her recent troubles, presuming they were not all make-believe, another foolish attempt to trick him into helping her. The douche that picked her up was another great example. Wellington could list in his mind such terrible people all day if he wanted, but there was hardly a point.

His train of thought once more stopped at Jajka station. The girl's weeps seemed genuine, even through the phone. It bugged Wellington to no end. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. Jajka was too proud to do such a thing, or so he thought. Unfortunately, his hands were tied until Richard investigated.

The wind blew through Assam's hair. A strand got behind Wellington's head, tickling his nape. It was getting chilly. Their combined warmth was the only thing keeping the biting cold at bay.

"It was really strange at first," Wellington said. "I've never had a girl like me before." The boy wondered whether he started the conversation too suddenly, but Assam was neither flustered nor flushed.

"Me neither," she said. "A boy, I mean… at least not that I know of." It wasn't surprising. Like most of the former students of Saint Gloriana, she'd spent her life in a girl-only environment. Opportunities to meet boys must had been few and far between, but Wellington was certain that under other circumstances she would have had no issues finding a boyfriend… unless her sense of humour scared him away.

"I don't have Richard's charisma," the boy said. Assam's cold nose touched his neck sending chills down his spine. He flinched, but kept staring at the sky.

"Don't sell yourself short…" the girl whispered.

"Although I have nothing but utmost respect for him. He never abused his ability. Most people like him change girlfriends like socks, but not Richard."

"You hold him in such high regard…" Assam said.

Wellington stared into the distance. He was quiet for a few moments before getting up from the bench. Assam's warmth no longer heating his torso, the hair on his skin stood up all at once. "He's my first and best friend," Wellington said. Assam wasn't sure it was the only reason. At the very least, it didn't make sense to her. "I… he is one of the few people I truly respect," the boy added. "Despite all the strength he has, he never abuses it, although he has a darker side I have yet to fully understand…" The breeze picked up. The two lovers started trembling. Assam finally got up from the bench and grabbed Wellington's arm, pulling him as close as she could to stay warm. "We should get moving. I wouldn't want you to catch a cold," the boy said, although he was pretty sure it would be he who would catch it. "My place is closer. You can stay the night if you wish. I'll call ahead to have some tea prepared."

"I'd love to," Assam said.


	53. The past catches up, Part 2

The quality of the conversation Richard was forced to have with Top varied greatly. One moment he'd pray the storm subsided so he can get out, the next he'd lose track of time. At times, he came off as a decent guy, then he'd say something that brought Richard back to reality. It was jarring.

"Oh yeah, you like Darjeeling, right?" Top asked. "We didn't get the chance to talk about girls last time. I heard she's a decent commander. A pity what happened to her tanks." With all the hate people who joked about 9/11 got in America, deserved or undeserved, it was really ironic that the captain of a US themed, mainly US student school would apply sarcasm when talking about a recent act of terrorism. It was subtle, but the way Top talked could not denote anything else. It was all a joke to him. But there was also a trace of something even less noticeable in his speech, something not even Richard could properly discern.

The young Stanfield's uncanny ability to read others had rarely failed him. It was one of the few innate abilities not drilled into his mind, one of the few things he had been born with, and it had helped him on countless occasions ever since he was young. Many people pretended to be his friends just to get close to his family, but Richard recognized none of them as true comrades. Sharpe and Castus, he had met later in his adolescence, but Wellington… Wellington was one of the few people he considered a true friend since childhood – someone who did not hide selfish intentions behind pretty words, someone who always spoke his mind with littler care for consequences, who told the bare truth without remorse, someone who had few friends because of his way of life, but someone he could trust.

There was something strange about how Top spoke; something in the way he worded his sentence, pronounced the words, the intonation, something not quite right. Richard cautiously scanned the boy hoping to read more into his intent, but it was most probable the boy's arrogance was simply seeping into his speech, twisting his tone.

"She's kind of hot, I guess," Top said. "Almost as hot as Kay." Richard already prepared himself for the inevitability of getting offended, so he wouldn't instinctively punch the boy in the face. "I'm curious who has the bigger boobs."

"You are so superficial," Richard said. It took all his willpower to stop himself from facepalming.

"What? Why? Breast size is like the second best thing after the ass!" Top said. Unable to hold back any longer, Richard brought his palm crashing into his face with an audible slap. "Oh, come on! Don't tell me you didn't pick Darjeeling because she was hot!" Top complained.

"I believe that our similar personalities and overall compatibility were the most important factors," Richard said. "Although I obviously also find her very attractive."

"Hah, I guess it's a matter of taste. She always came off anti-fun to me," Top said. "Kay's much better. She's hot, she's fun…"

"Well, at least we're in a relationship," Richard said, without realizing it sounded like a taunt.

"Don't worry. After I'll crush you guys, I'll make Kay mine," Top countered.

"That is a very sad way of talking about girls," Richard mumbled. He was sure that any relationship between Top and Kay would be very superficial. They were fundamentally different. Kay was a friendly idealist, Top was a jerk, and unless one changed the other, there was only one way it could end, and it wasn't pretty. Not much debate was left in Richard's mind. He knew the boy was rotten at the core. If he were to compare the feeling Roosevelt's captain gave him to something, it would be the smell of rotting, festering flesh. Defeating Roosevelt would prove to be very satisfying. Eton just had to pull it off.

* * *

The first thing Richard did when he came through the door was throw his things into the wall and jump on the couch. The meeting with Top had proved to be quite draining. He thanked God when the storm finally stopped and he could leave. Normally, he'd be grateful that his host kept him company throughout, but with Top, Richard kept hoping something would come up and he'd leave. It was really a pity, especially since there were a few times when he actually enjoyed their conversation. He got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen to make himself a drink, hastily pouring some whiskey into the first glass he found.

"Here's to Kay changing him for the better," the boy mumbled to himself, then drank the poison in a single gulp. "Blah! Sucks compared to tea."

"You're back?" The familiar voice of Darjeeling rang like music in the boy's ears. Richard had given her a copy of his keys to come and go as pleased, so he wasn't surprised by her presence, even if he hadn't noticed she was in. The girl's concern made his smile return instantly, like a universal painkiller.

"If I hear your name come out of his mouth again, I'll break him," Richard said, the smile still uncannily on his face as the murderous words left his mouth.

"You do have a tendency for violence." Darjeeling gave a wink to accompany her playful tone. Her tease make Richard chuckle for a bit. The killer intent left his visage, replaced by an expression of sadness. His smile turned bitter. He screwed the cap back on the whiskey bottle and put it away.

"I'm… sorry."

Darjeeling took his hands in hers and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "It's OK. You're still my knight in shining armour," she said.

"You have no idea how much I had to scrub to get it shining again…"

* * *

Assam stared in awe at the large mansion she found herself in front of. Wellington's villa was quite something to behold. Three stories high, made out of red brick, the house gave off an air of aristocracy. Lights shone from every window, every room seemed to be buzzing with activity, with maids and butlers running around.

"I thought Richard-sama was better off…" Assam said. She had forgotten all about the cold and dark and was still gaping at the fine example of Baroque architecture. It reminded her of the Chettle House of Dorset, another red brick mansion, one Darjeeling had shown pictures of to the Tea Garden.

"Trust me, his penthouse apartment is far more expensive," Wellington said. "Capitalism is a strange thing." He opened the door for Assam and invited her in. The servants paused for a moment when they saw him enter. He gestured for them to continue, which they did immediately, returning to their previous chores like honeybees around the hive. Next, he helped Assam with her coat and placed it on a nearby hanger, before doing the same with his.

"Oh my, master, but you already have a lady guest." Assam looked around for the source of the voice. An idle maid had approached them – the only idle maid. Everyone else kept buzzing around, ignoring the master of the house, albeit at his own request. Young and attractive, she made Assam a bit uncomfortable. The girl was definitely older than her. She could not deny that the thought of her boyfriend sharing a house, no matter how large, with such a beautiful woman made her a bit jealous. Assam was so taken aback by the appearance of this maid that she didn't even pay attention to what the girl was suggesting. "Perhaps you should allow me to plan your rendezvous next to avoid such complications," the young woman added.

"Oh, Lucy, you're lucky Assam has a sense of humour…" Unamused by his servant's attempt at humour, Wellington threw his words with harsh tone, like a slap over her face. However, despite her master's scolding, the woman didn't seem at all concerned about her job. It didn't look as if it was the first time they'd had such an exchange. "Assam, this is Lucretia Adams, my personal maid. The whole buzz is because today was a major clean up. I had forgot about it. My apologies. Normally, it's just me, Lucretia and Sébastien."

A random thought crossed Wellington's mind. For the third time that evening he thought about Jajka. He hadn't realized it before, but her demeanor was similar to Lucy's. The mere thought of it send chills down his spine. He made a mental note to make sure they'd never meet.

"Shall I take you to your other mistress? I mean guest," Lucy said. "She introduced herself as Rebecca."

"Beka's already here?" Wellington asked. "That was quick. I need to call Richard…" Assam waited patiently for the boy's exteriorized internal monologue to end. It turned out to be shorter than usual. As he reached for the phone in his pocket, Wellington turned to Assam, a concerned look on his face. "Beka's been compromised."

The girl gasped with surprise. "Is she alright?"

"Well, she's here, so she exfiltrated herself successfully. Richard and I will debrief her. If you wish you can join us. Or you can go to bed, if you so desire. I'll have Lucy prepare a room for you."

"Monsieur, the tidying is complete. The servants shall be on their way." A young man with a faint French accent reported to Wellington.

"Thank you, Sébastien," the master of the house said before returning his attention to the phone in his hand. "Richard, are you back? You need to get to my place at once."

"I just got home. I have quite the reveal to make myself, but I guessed it could wait until tomorrow," Richard said.

"It can't. It's urgent," Wellington said, stressing each word. "Beka's been compromised."

Without a moment's pause, Richard's voiced his response. "I'll be right there."

* * *

The office Wellington had inside his mansion was almost identical to the one he had at the Sensha-dou building. A bit larger, it had an extra armchair and a slightly longer sofa, but was otherwise an exact copy of the clubhouse version. Lucy placed a trey with tea on one of the tables and excused herself. On the way out, she almost crashed into Richard, who charged into the room like a tornado. He definitely spun like one to avoid the girl.

"What happened?" Richard asked. He was breathing heavily, having run the whole way from his place. Taken aback by his dynamic entry, Assam stared speechless from her armchair. Wellington himself was frozen with his teacup halfway between the table and his slightly opened mouth, gaping at his guest. Only Beka lay relaxed on the couch, not a trace of stress on her face. The sight of his old friend well and good removed some of the concern on Richard's mind. He let out a long sigh.

"Aww, Richard, you're so sweet," Beka erupted. She jumped up from the bed and opened her arms. "You were concerned about me? I wanna give you a hug!"

"Sit down!" Richard ordered. The intensity of his words pushed the girl back to the couch like an invisible force. "What happened?"

Wellington drank the entire cup of tea in one gulp, then stood up from his chair and started walking towards Richard. "Lenin sold Homer. Then Natasha revealed she's been Beka's co-conspirator all along."

Richard gaped at Wellington for a few seconds, then looked at Beka, then back at Wellington. "What?"

"It's a long story," Wellington said. "Take a seat."

* * *

Wellington described his evening in minute detail. His attention to minutiae and ability to interpret reactions weren't as good as Richard's, but he went through what happened as best as he could. The discussion and analysis took a few hours. By the end of it, Assam was asleep in her armchair and Beka was dangerously close to dozing off herself. The teapot was all but empty, with what liquid remained inside cold and tasteless. The clock struck twelve.

"So that's that…" Richard said. "All that remains is to figure out whether they'll take her back…"

"Relax, guys," Beka said. Half asleep, she sounded like Monty on a normal day. "Of course they'll take me back."

"I know Peter," Wellington said. "Everything will be fine. I panicked at first too, but I doubt there will be any issues."

Richard sighed. "That's a relief."

Silence filled the room. Assam was still sleeping in the armchair. Wellington got up from desk he was sitting on and went to check on her. Beka seemed to have finally fallen asleep herself. The grin that normally decorated her lips had melted as every muscle relaxed in her body. Other than her chest that rose and fell with every breath, there was no movement in her body. Her face looked serene, free from the stress of everyday life, free from the mask that she wore around everyone. Richard covered her with his jacket. A long time had passed since their adventures in Germany. Nostalgia washed over him as he remembered their time together, all that had been and all that could have been.

"What about on your side?" Wellington asked.

The spell on Richard's mind was broken. His focus returned to the present, he looked up. "Top's not behind the attacks," he said.

Wellington shook his head. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes. You can trust me on this one."

Again, Eton's glorious strategist shook his head. It made no sense. "Then who is?" He looked Richard in the eyes. For the first time ever, Wellington saw in those blue eyes something he had never seen before… fear.

"I can think of only one person," Richard said. "But I pray to God I'm wrong."


	54. The past catches up, Part 3

"Blood hell, Richard, you're scaring me," Wellington said. "Who is this person?"

"I fear that the past might be catching up with me. I've made enemies in Germany…" Richard said. "It's late. I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Hope you don't mind if I crash here."

Wellington rubbed his forehead. He wanted to ask more, but it was past midnight. He let out a long sigh and shook his head. "Not at all; Beka's nice and cosy here on the sofa, and I'll take Assam to my room, so you can have the guest room."

"Getting courageous, eh?" Richard gave his host a wink and a nudge. Wellington brushed him aside and went for the door.

"I hope Lucy hasn't fallen asleep…" Just as he spoke her name, the maid entered the room. "You're still awake?" Wellington asked.

With the same dismissive smile as always, the girl took a slight bow. Wellington knew her well enough to recognize the sarcasm. "Of course," she said. "A maid must always put first the needs of her master… even one such as you."

"That's what Lottie always says…" Richard mumbled; "except for the last part."

"Is the guest room ready?" Wellington asked. Lucy nodded. "Good. Then go to bed. I don't want you to miss your beauty sleep. Heaven knows, I don't keep you around for your sense of humour." Before the girl could retort, he bid her goodnight and invited her out. Accepting her momentary defeat, the maid took another bow, excused herself and left the room.

With Richard's situation solved, Wellington's focus turned to his own. Getting Assam to his room was no trouble – she was quite light to carry – but he couldn't let her sleep in her current clothes. Before he could come up with a solution, Wellington's phone started vibrating on the desk. The unpleasant sound of it struggling on the wood echoed through the room. The boy rushed to grab it and answer before it woke anyone up. Who'd call at that hour? "Yes?" Wellington answered. He listened in silence to the person on the other side for a few seconds before turning around and handing the device to Richard. "It's for you."

The boy took the phone and put it up to his ear. He recognized the voice instantly. "Ming?"

"You're one hard _tongxue_ to track, Richard, and even harder to get a hold of." For a second, Richard's lips curved into a faint smile. "It's good to finally hear you again, _pengyou_, but I bring ill news. You're in trouble. Heinrich's on your trail."

A chill went down Richard's spine. A sharp pain radiated from his heart and through his whole body. He gulped. "Shit. I thought Rothstein was behind the recent events, but… I never expected they'd send…"

"You're safe for now. If I couldn't get aboard your ship, I doubt anyone can. They're awfully picky about who they let in."

"We increased security when our people started being attacked," Richard said. "Sorry I didn't keep in touch. I tried to bury the past, but I see it keeps catching up with me. First Beka… now this."

"You've got contact with Beka? Good. We'll need her too. We can discuss this tomorrow, if you can get me on board."

"That won't be an issue now that I know you're coming. See you tomorrow." Richard ended the call and handed the phone back to its owner. Despite Wellington expectations, no explanation followed. Instead, the blond boy simply stood silently in the middle of the room, staring at nothing in particular.

"So, what was that about?" Wellington asked.

"We'll talk tomorrow. It's a long story."

* * *

After Richard left, Wellington went to see if there was any more tea in the pot. He poured what little was left in his cup. Despite its overall unappealing taste, he drank it all. Assam was still sleeping in the armchair and Beka on the sofa. He picked his girlfriend up and carried her to his room. The bed was big enough to hold them both, but Assam was still dressed.

"Lily, do you want to sleep like that?" Wellington whispered in her ear.

"Mmm… no…" the girl mumbled. More than half-asleep, she sat up on the bed and started unbuttoning her shirt. Wellington instinctively turned around. The blood rushing to his cheeks made his skin sting. The next thing he felt was Assam's shirt falling on his head. She'd thrown it his way.

"There's a nightdress on the bed," Wellington said. "Tell me when you're done." One minute, another minute, no response came. He hesitated for a few moments before finally turning around. Assam was nicely tucked in bed, on her side, covered under the blanket. The rest of her clothes were on the carpet. He picked up her skirt, bow and knee socks, arranged them neatly and placed everything on a nearby chair. With that out of the way, he got changed himself and got in bed.

With his eyes closed, Wellington counted his heartbeats. His heart was pulsating faster than usual. A part of him was happy, another anxious. He emptied his mind of any doubt. They had been together for long enough for him to be okay about it. Satisfied with the conclusion, he tried to get some sleep, but something made his heart skip a beat. Assam had invaded his part of the bed and firmly attached herself to his torso. She mumbled something inaudible before falling back asleep. Resistance was futile, so Wellington simply accepted his fate and let himself drift off to sleep. At least she had put the nightdress on and wasn't spooning him in her underwear.

* * *

Richard hid in the shadows, just outside the door. Inside, his uncle and father had an intense conversation. A smug smile hanged on his lips, like that of a predator who had just caught his prey. He struggled to hold back the laughter building up in his stomach. It took all his effort to keep it down to a chuckle. Richard had finally defeated his father utterly. They said revenge was a dish best served cold. The young boy didn't care much about the temperature of his meal – he was ecstatic to simply enjoy its glorious taste at last.

"What will you do, Alex?" Richard's uncle kept looking with concern at his brother, panicked about the situation. It wasn't Luck's skin on the line, but he couldn't stay calm while his older sibling went down.

"Nothing. It's game over," Alex said. "The die is cast. Every hand is revealed. There is nothing I can do." His voice was awfully steady for someone who was doomed. Richard had hoped he'd see his father suffer more. The acceptance he displayed was unnerving.

After all those years, Alexander had finally made a mistake. He had left out a set of incriminatory documents, so sensitive that if given to the authorities would topple his empire and those of his allies. Richard didn't give it a second thought. The man who abandoned his family for the sake of business would finally pay. It wasn't even legitimate business – on the contrary, the name Gandor was stained by profits from prostitution, drugs and, more importantly, money laundering, the key to everything. Poetic justice, Richard called it. Those records on illegal money laundering transactions were enough to utterly destroy the entire local mafia. "Checkmate, father," the boy said to himself.

"There must be something you can do," Luck insisted.

"I'm just glad I managed to keep you out of everything. Father always asked that you involve yourself more." Alex patted his brother on the shoulder. A few small tears left Luck's eyes and flowed down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away. Alex fought valiantly against Wilhelm Gandor's desire that both his sons inherit the shady family business. He made it look like greed to convince his ruthless old man. He succeeded. Richard didn't know why his father did it – for it was unfathomable that it could be altruism – and he didn't care. For as far as he was concerned greed was not an excuse, but the true reason, hidden in plain sight.

Only the sound of the grandfather clock ticking away could be heard in the small room. Realization of the futility of it all weighed heavily on Luck's heart. He sat down on his brother's desk. No matter how much he thought about it he couldn't come up with a plan. It was all hopeless. Alexander was lost. In the shadows, Richard savoured every moment.

The silence was broken. Although not as explosive as his son would have hoped to witness, Alex finally had a breakdown. "I tried to set things right… I really did… for Liz… for Richard… but I failed. I tried to keep them away from this hell… but it only served to alienate them… If only I…" Richard hoped that his thirst for revenge would be quenched when he saw his father fall apart, but Alexander's ramblings served only to confuse the boy. The more the man talked, the more Richard started questioning his hearing. "That evidence I released to the police after Richard gave the documents on my desk? I had been building up that arsenal for a while. I planned to use it after I covered my traces."

"Then why didn't you get rid of everything that incriminated you?" Luck asked. "You should have burned it all, not let it gather dust in your office."

"Because I wanted Richard to decide my fate," Alex said.

Luck stared at his brother with his mouth wide open. "What?"

"I wanted to take Richard and explain everything to him. Why I left him and his mother, why I kept them away, why I never called – everything – and with all the cards on the table, I'd hand him those documents and have him choose whether he prefers to have me by his side or in prison." As his brother gaped in disbelief, Alex walked to the window and placed his hand on it. The cold glass bit at his skin. "I am not proud of what I've done and would have gladly sacrificed myself, but one dilemma remained. Liz is dead. Should I rob Richard of his father as well, for the sake of justice, or should I dedicate the rest of my life to making it up to him and redeeming myself in the process. I wanted him to make that choice, but he chose too soon…"

Richard couldn't believe his ears. It couldn't be true. It all had to be a lie, a ruse to hurt him one last time. But there was no way Alex could know he was eavesdropping. It made no sense. His mother had died of grief because her husband had abandoned her and their son. That was the absolute truth that guided Richard's actions for every moment up to that point. Everything he had done since Elizabeth died until that moment in time was done with a singular purpose in mind… revenge. Every thug he'd beaten, every skill he'd honed, every moment he invested to perfect his mind or body was either in memory of his mother or to improve his chances for vengeance.

Alex turned away from the window and faced his brother once more, with renewed determination in his gaze. "He must never know, Luck," he said. "I don't know what effect it would have on him. He must never find out. He must think I was a monster, the reason his mother died, just like he always did. He must think his revenge complete." Outside the door, still hidden in the shadows, Richard went weak at the knees. His mind was in disarray. Unable to think straight, he could only stare in silence at the events unfolding before his eyes. "Now go, they'll be here soon. Friedmann is sensible enough, but Rothstein won't go down without a fight, and he'll want revenge. I've made sure all evidence leads to me. You should be safe. Take care of Richard."

Luck grabbed his brother by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "You need to run. They'll kill you."

"There is no running from them. It would be only postponing the inevitable," Alex said.

"Then you're dying for his sins!"

"Don't be a fool," Alex said. He brushed his brother's hands off his shoulder. "He's a child; he has no sins – at least none to die for. I'm dying for my sins, and the sins of our father."

Luck could no longer contain his anger. "Curse that man," he hissed, "haunting us to this day, even from the grave!"

Alex shook his head. He knew what it meant to be raised specifically to inherit the business. He could blame his father little more than he could blame himself. "Go now," he said. "Leave while you can."

Still in the shadows, Richard looked as his uncle stopped in the doorway, giving his brother one last pleading glance before finally giving up and leaving. Richard still couldn't believe what he had witnessed. His mind couldn't comprehend. Noises came from outside – bangs at the main entrance, loud, as if someone was trying to kick the door in. A loud crash echoed through the house, followed by footsteps. Richard's senses were still sharp. He counted two, no, three people, large adults given the sound of the footsteps, coming closer, straight for his father's office. The door to the office crashed into the wall, kicked open with a fury.

"Heinrich, how quaint that Mr. Rothstein would sent you of all people," Alex said.

"Who else would he send? I am his right hand man, am I not?"

From his position, Richard couldn't see the intruder at first. Only his voice gave away he was even in the room. The cold, unforgiving tone had something about it that made Richard realize this Heinrich, whoever he was, was not to be messed with. When the man finally entered his field of vision, the boy's blood froze. Heinrich wasn't a large individual. He wore a vest that left his arms exposed, which were surprisingly thin for an enforcer of his supposed level. The way he moved suggested he didn't have professional combat training either. He was still obviously tougher and better trained than the ordinary thugs the mafia hired, but, for a Rothstein elite, he appeared underwhelming. Despite all that, Richard could only stare in terror as the man moved across the room. Heinrch radiated pure evil. His aura was pitch black. His voice, his smile, his every gesture triggered Richard's fight or flight response. On his right arm were tattooed Sig runes, a broken sun cross and higher on his shoulder, like a crown over them all, a black swastika. Every muscle, every bone in the boy's body wanted to run, but his instincts told him to stay hidden. That man was in combat mode. If Richard made a single move, he'd be dead.

_"Meine Ehre heißt Treue_, Alex," the man said. "Why did you betray us? You broke our hearts." Heinrich grinned. His face radiated a pleasure that scared Richard with its familiarity. It was the satisfaction of a long wait finally at an end. He didn't at all seem heartbroken or disappointed. He did not feel betrayed. Instead, the fire in his eyes showed nothing but a perverse happiness.

"Spare me the nonsense and get it done with," Alex said.

"Not bad, Alex. _Tapferkeit ohne Wehleidigkeit, du hast gelernt leiden ohne zu klagen._ A pity you do not respect your elders."

_"Seid gehorsam, doch nicht ohne Freimut."_

_ "Jedem das Seine."_

Alexander turned his swivel chair towards the window, putting Heinrich behind him. "With that I agree," he said. Heinrch pulled something from his vest – a pistol – and pointed it at the back of Alex's head. "You're still sporting that old Luger?" Alex asked. Heinrich chuckled. "How quaint." From his chair, the man looked out the window at the endless horizon. "I'm sorry Richard."

A loud bang – the loudest Richard had ever heard. The gun was discharged. The jointed arm of the Luger bent and it spit out the spent Parabellum shell casing. Heinrich bent down to pick it up. Nausea filled Richard's stomach. He started coughing, giving himself away. Of course, his father's killer heard him. When he looked up, the man was walking towards the door. Richard steeled himself. He still had the element of surprise. Heinrich didn't open fire at the door, so he still stood a chance.

The door opened. Richard clenched his teeth and fists, readied himself for a final stand, but he couldn't move. Fear had frozen him still. He saw the tattooed arm reaching for him. He closed his eyes, expecting to feel pain. The pain never came. Instead, the hand ruffled his hair. "Hey kid, make sure you don't end up like your dad," Heinrich said. The man who had just killed his father delivered his lines as if nothing had happened, as if he was speaking to the child of an old friend. He was insane. When Richard opened his eyes, Heinrich had left. The room was empty. Only the soulless body of his father sat motionless in the chair.

Richard was in the custody of his uncle for a while, before returning to Britain, to the Stanfields. Luck went against the dying wishes of his brother and told the boy the whole truth. Perhaps it was his way of getting revenge against the child who ruined everything. Perhaps he was simply tired of lies. Richard leaned towards the former, but he was too broken to say for sure.

The documents he had found on his father's desk and expeditiously gave to the police were far from enough to topple the entire mafia. What toppled it was instead the huge bundle of evidence that Alexander had been building up with the express purpose of incriminating everyone but him. What was left on his desk was nothing more than the rest, documents that could incriminate Alex, but could do little to take down anyone else. When Richard made his uninformed choice, his father had to go ahead with his plan. His son had already decided to bring him to justice before a single word of apology could be spoken.

* * *

Richard woke up gasping for air. He was soaked in sweat. His heart racing, he reached for Darjeeling, hoping to feel her soft embrace, but she was not there. He looked around. He was in Wellington's guest room. In order to calm himself, he applied the breath control techniques he had learned during his martial training. After a few minutes, his pulse had returned to normal. He got out of bed. The previous night he had promised Wellington he'd tell him about his past. It was time.

"So that's all there is to it," Richard said. The story ended, he looked at his audience for a reaction. Wellington looked as composed and calculated as he always was when he analysed a situation. Assam looked concerned. She wasn't that close to Richard herself, but the boy had her sympathies. The most concern, however, radiated from Darjeeling's eyes. She deserved to know this part of Richard's life as well, so the boy had summoned her as well for the story.

"By God, this Heinrich sounds like the devil," Wellington said.

"To be fair, I am an unreliable narrator. I was still young back then, even if it wasn't so long ago. Through the eyes of my immature self, he indeed looked like a devil, but don't take that image of his I've drawn as the objective truth," Richard said.

"He may not be the devil, but he's a dangerous murderer," Assam said.

"Heinrich himself was not that much stronger than most thugs Rothstein hired. He wasn't Rothstein's right hand man because of his combat ability. Those neo-nazis had tougher grunts," Richard said. "He was chosen for his cold blood and ruthless efficiency. To be fair, had I been calm, I think I could have defeated him back then, even if he had a gun."

"Don't even think of that," Darjeeling cried. Her voice trembled. Fear and concern overflowed from her eyes. Trying to hold back the tears, she glared at the boy. "I… I wouldn't even know what to do if… just don't even think of trying something so reckless."

"So what now?" Wellington asked.

"Wait for my friend Ming to get here," Richard said. "I think he has a plan."


	55. RECAP 4 - Family Business

**1\. FRIEDMANN**

**Main Operations:**

\- Tax evasion, stock manipulation schemes and other financial crime

\- Extortion, Falsification of documents

\- Money laundering of Gandor, Friedmann, Rothstein and other crime family money

**Owned Business**

**Failsafe Insurance / Failsafe Versicherung**

**Friedmann &amp; Goodwill Law Firm**

\- Money laundering assistant for local crime groups

* * *

**2\. ROTHSTEIN**

**Main Operations:**

\- Illegal Weapons Manufacturing and Trading over the Black Market

\- Weapons Smuggling to Third World Powers, Small Terrorist Groups and Other Crime Groups

**Other Notes:**

\- Neo-Nazi Group, Extremely Dangerous

\- Best Enforcers in Germany and Europe

**Owned Business**

**Golbrek Precision Mechanics**

\- Officially produces clocks and other similar products

\- Unofficially produces small/complex weapon parts

\- Most centers are located in Switzerland, Austria and Germany

**Durafirm Manufacturing**

\- Officially produces engines and industrial materials

\- Unofficially produces large weapon parts and assembles all weaponry

\- Has centers both in Europe and in Third World Contries

**Transparisport Transportation**

\- Officially serves to transport Durafirm products to clients

\- Unofficially trasports parts and weapons between Golbrek factories, Durafirm factories and Illegal Clients

**Dragon Private Security / Drache Private Sicherheitsdienste (DPS)**

* * *

**3\. GANDOR**

**Main Operations:**

\- Drug production, drug trafficking and human trafficking (sex trafficking, migrant trafficking, labor racketeering) in Europe

\- Money laundering of Gandor, Friedmann, Rothstein and other crime family money

**Owned Business**

**Gandor International Banking Group (GIB Group)**

\- Money laundering assistant for local crime groups in

**Devil's Own Luck Casino Chain**

\- Serves as an outlet for Gandor drugs and prostitutes

**A Taste of Heaven Restaurant Chain**

\- Provides money-laundering and logistics for illegal activities


	56. The past catches up, Part 4

"Absolutely not," Darjeeling said. "It's too dangerous… I beg you." With Beka in the room, she tried to keep her voice low. The desperation in her whispers would have been well hidden from most, but not from Richard. He could feel her pain, and it made his heart ache in sync. He avoided her pleading gaze, afraid she'd convince him with it. He didn't want to hurt her, but there was no other way.

Wellington and Assam entered the room with some tea and biscuits. Lucy was out shopping and Sébastien was in the garage, fixing the car, so the host and his girlfriend had to produce the snacks themselves. Darjeeling had hoped she'd have enough time to convince Richard to give up on his reckless plan before the two returned. She failed.

The tension was tangible in the air. Beka pretended to sleep on the couch. Darjeeling and Richard appeared to be arguing in a corner. Assam could guess what it was all about, but Wellington was completely oblivious. "What did I miss?" he asked. Without another word, Darjeeling walked out of the room. Assam followed in pursuit. It was her duty to comfort a burdened friend, no matter the context. Not sure whether it was his fault or not, Wellington stood baffled with the tea trey in the middle of the room. Richard's usual smile was suspiciously absent. He looked at the door with hesitation. "Richard, please explain." It wasn't often that Darjeeling and Richard fought. Come to think of it, Wellington couldn't thing of a single time they did.

"Ming called," Richard said. "He's going to be late, but he explained the situation on the phone. The Interpol is already after Heinrich, but he's managed to get into Japan somehow."

Wellington put the tea trey on his desk and stared at Richard. "And?"

"As of this morning, Heinrich has issued a challenge," Richard said. "He wants me, Beka and Ming to meet him, alone." Wellington gaped for a few moments until the words finally registered and he understood the scope of it all. It made sense that Darjeeling would be against it. It was a terribly reckless course of action to accept such a proposition.

"It's a trap," Wellington said, all matter-of-fact. "Call the police on him. I'm not losing my best driver before the finals." Richard could easily read through Wellington's excuse. Even if he didn't want to show it, the news disturbed him as much as it did Darjeeling.

"That was Ming's original plan – bait them, then call the cops," Richard said. Wellington gestured approval. "It won't work."

Wellington sighed. "Why?"

"Ming says Heinrich has gathered Yakuza support, plus he's monitoring police traffic. Even if the Yakuza don't stop the cops, if anything is fishy, he'll retreat. This is our only chance to take them out and stop the attacks," Richard said. "We can do it."

"Do what? Kill them?" Wellington retorted. Quick to dismiss the foolish plan, he poured some tea into a cup and took a sip. Darjeeling must have tried to appeal to Richard emotionally. Wellington would do it with reason and logic, in his own mocking way. "Do you even have a plan?"

"We'll beat them, tie them up and guard them until the police arrive," Beka said. Wellington gave her a disapproving look. That course of action was hardly ideal. It was easy to see that the chances were against them.

"Do you have a better idea?" Richard asked. He didn't usually look to Wellington for approval. Instead, he hoped the glorious strategist could come up with an alternative.

Wellington walked to his desk and sat in his chair – the one place he could think best in. He folded his hands and rested his face on them. Deep in meditation, he stared at nothing in particular. The room was filled with silence as the glorious strategist analysed the problem in an attempt to come up with a better solution. He pondered, an imaginary chessboard in front of him, moving the pieces around to find the ideal course.

Meanwhile, Richard's will was wavering. If he wanted to continue down that path, he'd have to get Darjeeling's blessing. Beka sensed his lack of conviction. The boy felt her hand on his shoulder. "The strong do not need the approval of others any more than a lion needs the approval of sheep," she said.

"Darjeeling is not a sheep, Beka," Richard said. "She is my lioness."

Wellington stood up. All eyes turned to him. He looked at Richard with conviction in his gaze. He had come up with a plan, or so it seemed. "When, where?" he asked.

"Outskirts of Osaka, tomorrow at dawn," Richard said.

"There is no other way," Wellington said. "Proceed as planned."

* * *

"I can't believe he'd do that," Darjeeling said. It took all her strength to hold back the tears. She had to stay strong in front of Assam. Normally, it was she who looked at Darjeeling for support, not the other way around.

"Darjeeling-sama, Richard-sama is doing it for everyone," Assam said. "Have faith in him."

"I do… yet…" The girl took a deep breath. "What would you do if Wellington put himself in danger?"

"To save everyone else?" Assam asked. "I'd stand by his side, to the end."

Darjeeling knew that would be her answer. It was a rhetorical question, really. The two of them were quite different. "Self-conceit may lead to self-destruction. Sometimes it is better to hold your loved one back," Darjeeling said.

* * *

A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous, or in this case, fall flat. That was Darjeeling's final hope, her last chance to convince Richard to stop. Even Wellington and his logic had failed her, but love had not yet drawn its last breath. Through the kiss, the girl hoped she could convey what words could not, the intensity of her feelings, her desperation. But Richard already knew. He could always tell such things.

Their lips separated and Darjeeling awaited the final answer. "Have faith in me," Richard said. "I will come back to you." Not what the girl had hoped to hear.

"If you leave, I'll break up with you," she threatened. "I can't live with this."

"I beg you," Richard said. He had never pleaded for anything his entire life, but this girl made him abandon his pride. "Don't do this."

"I asked you the same," Darjeeling said.

"I need to do this," Richard whispered. "There is no other way. Not even Adrian could think of a better… please, be strong for me…"

Never had it been so hard for Darjeeling to keep up her mask. She reminded herself of the British fortitude in the face of adversity, but it was not enough. Deep inside, her heart was bleeding. "It takes more strength to walk away."

* * *

The wind blew through the Shogun's long hair and caressed her white skin. The sweat evaporating from the back of her neck took away the heat, sending a tingling, cool sensation down her spine. Her chest moved with every breath. Her hands were dry, holding the bokken with a firm grip. Richard was the only outsider against whom she could go all out, but for some reason, he didn't seem focused that evening.

"I'm afraid I'll have to cut this session short," Richard said. He dropped his stance and took a bow.

After returning the bow, Katanako looked him over. "I have heard of your… situation," she said. "You have my sympathy."

"From whom did you hear?" Richard asked.

"Your… gunner told me," Katanako answered. Her hesitation and the flushed expression that followed spoke volumes.

"So the rumours are true." Richard chuckled. For the first time that day, his lips curved in a smile – faint, but still there.

"Maybe…" Katanako said. Compared to how confident the Shogun normally was, that evening Richard was surprised by how she avoided his gaze like a shrinking violet. Normally, he'd enjoy the moment, but he had bigger issues weighing on his heart. The girl quickly regained her composure. Her stoic expression returned, she ordered, "Wait here," before disappearing through one of the dojo's doors.

Richard waited patiently for her to return, his thoughts far away, at Darjeeling. His attempts to convince her, to get her blessing, failed time and again. She had been oddly quiet at lunch. The boy's line of thought was interrupted when Katanako returned. She carried in her arms, covered in ornate cloth, a sword. She stopped in front of Richard and presented the weapon to him.

"It has been in our family for generations. It is too unwieldy for my style, but I feel it should fit yours well," the Shogun said. Richard hesitated. He looked at her, then at the sword, then at her again. "Take it. It may prove useful in your future struggles."

Richard took the sword, grasping it in on hand. Through the silken cloth, he felt the quality of the wooden scabbard. He bowed his head. "Thank you." Katanako smiled and nodded. Her confidence was strangely reassuring.

"Fear not," she said. "Bishamonten smiles on you."


	57. Interlude 4 - Latest in Romance

_HMS Audacious, a few days before Heinrich's challenge_

"Want to hear the latest news in romance?" Richard asked.

Wellington gave his friend a short look, pondered his options, then swiftly gave up resistance. "I've got nothing better to do," he said.

"Great!" Richard cried. "Where do I start?"

Wellington was pretty sure Richard had picked up on his sarcasm, but decided to ignore it and continue anyway. He let out a sigh. It was too late and he was too tired to fight it. If Richard wanted to tell him so badly, he would listen. "Let me guess, Sharpe's given up on Hana and is now going for the Shogun."

"That's old news," Richard said. "Been going on for a while, and frankly, I'm glad. I couldn't help him with Ooarai, but Chi-Ha-Tan is another matter."

"Whatever, cupid. Anything else?" Wellington asked. "What about Monty and that driver."

"What driver?" Monty asked from the door.

"Come in," Wellington said, although it was pointless formality as the boy had already entered and sunk into an armchair.

"That sleepy girl from Ooarai," Richard said. "Sorry I couldn't help you much with her. With that school my hands are tied… couldn't find any excuse to let myself in."

"So, Monty, you're still pursuing her?" Wellington asked, feinting interest.

"I never had."

"What about that teddy bear thing you had?" Richard asked.

"What? I was joking!" Monty cried, livelier than anyone had seen him in months. "Besides, other than the fact that we're both lazy geniuses that sleep a lot we don't have that much in common."

"You don't even have sleeping habits in common," Wellington said. "Heinz told me about her. She's got some medical issue with blood sugar or something. You just don't sleep enough during the night, so your circadian rhythm is all over the place, getting sleepy midday or at six o'clock. If you went to sleep before midnight, you'd be fine."

"Yeah, whatever," Monty mumbled.

"Guess I should have expected you to prefer sleeping over courting," Wellington retorted.

"You're a fine one to talk," Richard mumbled.

"Joke's on you! When I was back in London last week I got to meet someone really… important…" Barely able to finish his sentence, Monty waved his finger in the air then sank deeper into the softness of the chair.

"Whom?" Wellington asked. Richard too was paying curious attention.

"Louise… Windsor…" Monty mumbled. His face was hidden from sight as he lay in the chair, but blood rushed to his cheeks. His skin tingled from the heat.

"Her Royal Highness Princess Louise of Wessex?!" Richard jumped to his feet, his mouth wide open. "That's bloody great news, mate!"

"Even got invited to her coming of age party…" Monty said.

"Everyone got invited to her coming of age party…" Wellington muttered.

"Not personally…" Monty muttered in return.

"Aren't you one year younger than her? Whatever…" With the subject already going, Wellington thought that he might as well keep asking. "What about Castus and Pekoe?"

"Still working on it," Richard said. "The History Club? You keep in touch with them."

"Yeah, what is the wehraboo and his friends doing?" Monty asked.

"Well, they're under the same roof, but from what Heinz told me, nothing's happening," Wellington said. "Patton?"

"All talk and no action." Richard realized that Monty had fallen asleep, so he lowered his voice. "For as far as know, Yukari friendzoned him."

"Romeo? Dorian?" Wellington asked.

"Romeo's falling for everyone as usual. Last I checked he was fawning over some Gloriana girl, which is better than Ooarai since I can actually help him with, but if he can't make up his mind, my hands are tied," Richard said. "Dorian's on a leash. Ooarai's student president was on to him last I checked. Not sure if there's anything between them, since I'm blind on that school."

"Shiro?" Wellington asked.

"I think he's still dating that girl… you know, the only radio operator in Sensha-dou," Richard answered.

"I'm seeing a pattern here…" Wellington mumbled. "Why the heck is everyone going for Ooarai?"

"Not sure, really. It all started with the ball," Richard said. "Maybe because they're the former champs? Approachable? Your guess is as good as mine."

"What about Ryuu? Churchill?"

"Ryuu's too busy with games. Churchill's silent. Doesn't seem to be interested in anyone."

"That's everyone?"

"Mostly…" Richard said. "How's Zhukov, especially after the spy debacle?"

"He doesn't even know about it," Wellington said.

"Poor sod. What about his love life?"

"Hah, he'd sooner date the corpse of Stalin than a girl."

"He swings that way?" Richard asked.

"No, he's just too busy listening to the Soviet anthem twelve hours a day."

* * *

Sharpe was sitting at a table, reassembling a pistol, a model Richard didn't recognize. He had the habit of disassembling and reassembling guns just for fun. He only found shooting them more enjoyable, although he had only recently gained the legal right to do it.

"How's it going, sniper?" Richard asked.

Sharpe raised his eyes from the table, but kept handling the weapon parts without looking. "Actually, I prefer pistols. They're easier to handle," he said.

Richard took a seat next to Sharpe. His trademark smile was on. "Heard you and the Shogun…"

"Yeah…"

"Sorry I couldn't help you with Hana, but you know I could have with Katanako…" Richard said.

"Is it so hard to believe that I've done on my own?" Even if Sharpe's tone was calm, Richard could discern a faint trace of dissatisfaction. "Maybe I wanted to court her without your help."

Richard chuckled. "Hey, I'm just trying to help."

"Be careful. You're excessive helping can end up doing more bad than good," Sharpe said. He returned his attention to the gun in his hand. The assembly was complete. He released the lock on the slide, allowing it to spring back into its normal position and put the empty magazine in.

"You sound like Beka. She used to say it's best to let people solve their own problems, rather than solve it for them," Richard said. "So that they may grow."

"Wise words," Sharpe muttered.

"Arguably," Richard said.

Sharpe started disassembling the gun again. The calm that he had previously shown was absent. Instead, he was tearing it apart, like a highly experienced soldier on the clock. "Tell me, Richard, have you ever considered that maybe the people you so desperately try to get together might not want it?" Just as he finished speaking the last word, he placed the final piece of the pistol on the table. "Like Castus and Pekoe, for example?"

Richard's picked up one of the parts, the frame, and spun it on his finger. Sharpe snatched it back and put it back on the table. Richard kept smiling. "I'm positive they fancy each other."

"You did push them together, didn't you? I wonder they would have gotten any close if you didn't meddle," Sharpe said.

"Hey, in their case I didn't act alone. Her friends pushed her as much as I did."

"I wonder how many of the romances at Eton are caused by you."

"About half, I'd say… What's the problem, man?" Richard asked. "You're not normally this cold." Sharp opened his mouth to retort, but he hesitated. He let out a sigh. "We've known each other for years, mate. You know you can trust me." Sharpe had grown distant from him and Wellington, and so had Castus. The realization was painful. Richard blamed himself for it. The four of them used to be nearly inseparable before the National Tournament. After Richard started dating Darjeeling and Wellington Assam however, Sharpe became somewhat of a fifth wheel. Even Castus slowly drifted away, despite his relationship with Pekoe. Richard wondered if the same happened between Pekoe and her two seniors. At least Pekoe and Castus had each other, but Sharpe's taste in girls only served to further distance him from his friends.

"It's… I'm sorry, man, I don't want to seem cold, I'm just in a bad mood," Sharpe said. "You know I've got your back, and I'm glad you try to help, it's not about that… just…"

"Spit it out, man. Maybe I can lend a hand."

"Katanako's trying to get me stop smoking!"

"That's it?!" Richard asked. Then he realized it probably was more complicated than that. "What, she's threatening to leave you? You're considering breaking up?"

"No," Sharpe said. "I'm in withdrawal."

"Oh… oh my… I see. Have you tried nicotine patches?"

"Yes. I'm wearing three right now. I would have shot you had I not."

"Doesn't matter, had sex?" Richard chuckled.

Sharpe burst into laughter. "Not yet. Now get out, go play cupid with Castus!"


	58. Face Down

The sun was rising over the horizon, marking the beginning of one of the most stressful days Richard had ever had, and he'd only been awake for a few hours. The previous night, Darjeeling wouldn't hear any excuse. She refused to even spend it with him, instead returning to the Tea Garden after days of sleeping at his place. Even before formally waking up and getting out of bed, Richard didn't catch much sleep. The helicopter blades cutting through the air made his head ache more and more with each passing moment. Beka herself was not her usual self. Her ubiquitous grin was absent that morning. Ming appeared most at ease, but only in comparison. They were on the way to the outskirts of Osaka to face their nemesis.

The helicopter landed. The three got off. The helicopter left.

There was no human being in sight. Heinrich had chosen a remote location for the showdown – an abandoned shrine in a terrible state of disrepair. It was a miracle the rotten wood didn't crumble under its own weight when the helicopter took off. Ming brushed the dust off a nearby bench and sat down. Beka preferred to stand up. Richard scanned his surroundings, trying to memorize as much of the battlefield as he could. Something tugged at his sleeve. He turned around to see Beka holding onto him.

"Why did you vanish, Richie?" she asked. Her brittle tone was as unusual as her miserable expression – far different to her usual energetic cries, it was charged with a hidden melancholy.

"I had to atone for my sins, Beka. Eton was like a monastery for me. I had to do good to make up for the evil I had done before." The girl released her grasp on his hand. Richard took a few steps until he was in the very middle of the shrine's courtyard and sat down, _seiza_-style, on the cold stone that paved the yard. As he knelt, folding his legs under his thighs, he unclothed the sword Katanako had given him.

"I can't believe you actually brought that," Beka said. Her weapons of choice were two wooden _nunchaku_, while Ming preferred to use two _tonfa_, neither bladed weapons.

"Do you really think they won't bring knifes?" Richard asked. "Guns might be hard to get here, but don't be so naïve to think they won't come with the intent to hurt us."

"And what, you plan to disembowel them?" the girl retorted. The gloom in her voice turned into anger for a moment, before nostalgia took over. They were fighting like they used to in Germany. She missed those days.

"I won't hurt them any more than they'll try to hurt us," Richard said.

For the first time that morning, Beka's lips curved into a faint smile, bittersweet, but still there. "That's an improvement," she retorted.

"Besides, with the scabbard on, I can use the katana as a bokken."

"Stop fighting," Ming said. "We need to stand as one in order to achieve victory." Just like in Germany, Ming mediated the conflict between his teammates with patience and wise words. His moderation contrasted the extremes that were his fellow students, and their master often relied on him, the eldest of the three, to keep balance. The wind changed course. A faint but noticeable chill came from the north. "He's here," Ming said. From the legion of steps that lead to the temple, the enemy made his appearance. Heinrich was followed by six other men, apparently Japanese, probably hired locally. They slowly moved to encircle the three youngsters.

"_Guten Morgen, Kinder_. How you've grown!"

Richard instantly recognized the raucous voice of the psychopath that attempted to comfort him years before, after murdering his father in front of him. It sent a chill down his spine. He thought of Darjeeling, Wellington and all of those he had to protect back at Eton and steeled himself. "What do you want, Heinrich?"

"To meet the demon one more time," the man said. "You've been a naughty boy, Richard. I told you not to end up like your father, but you already were." Richard instantly understood Heinrich's motivations. There really wasn't any other explanation. The man had learned about Richard's part in the destruction of the German mafia. "Oh, don't worry. Your transgressions were not as grave as your father's, and your intent was not to harm Rothstein, so I won't kill you. Besides, it would be a waste to spill the blood of such a fine exemplar of _Übermensch_." Heinrich spoke with the conviction of a proud Aryan, even if such a master race didn't exist in anything but his fantasies. "It's a pity you keep such company. I'm not sure what is more sickening, the Chinese _Untermensch_," he said, pointing at Ming, "or that abomination resulting from the pollution of pure German blood." Beka shrugged. It was not the first time someone insulted her biracial identity.

"Still a racist psychopath, I see, Heinrich," Richard said. He was trying to buy time. The Japanese thugs, probably Yakuza, were obviously waiting for Heinrich's go before attacking. Richard scanned them first. At a glance, they didn't seem to have too much training, so they were probably not high quality enforcers, but he couldn't judge their exact physical strength through their clothes. Heinrich, on the other hand, still donned his sleeveless vest. His muscle mass had increased since Richard had last seen him, and the way he carried himself showed he had trained a bit as well. Overall, he was more dangerous than before, even if it was unlikely he still had a Luger.

"Oh, Richard… Still trying to analyse things to improve your odds?" The man had a way of pronouncing the name that ticked Richard off – the way the Germans said it, _Rikhahrt_. Despite being fluent in it, he always avoided speaking German. After all the things that happened in Germany, anything and everything German made the boy sick in the guts. "Just give up, take your punishment and we can all go our separate ways." For a moment, the boy considered the offer. It didn't last long. "Of course, your friends here must die. I have to purge the gene pool of their filth." Heinrich's statement didn't seem so well taken by his hired goons. Richard noticed they started exchanging glances. They didn't seem too enthusiastic about murdering kids. It was a weakness he could exploit. "I'm surprised you didn't call your Japanese sword maiden, or the abomination her Slavic Bolshevik friends."

The wind stopped. Richard could almost hear the sound of his heart racing. He took a deep breath. Ming and Beka had already positioned themselves strategically for defence. Only he sat down in the middle of the yard, on the cold stone. If Heinrich really followed the Prussian virtues he enjoyed quoting, he wouldn't attack until Richard himself got up. Courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear. Richard told himself that and got up.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd bring a sword? I would have taken my _Ehrendegen._" Heinrich reached inside his vest and pulled out an ornate dagger, an _SS Ehrendolch, _a weapon made to stab. It had a black hilt with the _Parteiadler_ on it – eagle emblem of the Nazi Party – and a metal scabbard covered in black gloss lacquer. "We could have had a proper duel." The man unsheathed his dagger and placed the scabbard back inside his vest. He held the weapon with a reverse grip, blade pointed at Richard.

Uncertainty weighed heavily on the boy's heart. He gripped the sword with all his might, as if trying to crush the wooden scabbard in his hand. He bent his knees, preparing to charge. Right hand on the hilt and left on the sheath, he pushed the guard with his thumb, exposing the blade. If everything went well, he could end it in a single strike. He took a deep breath once more and stared Heinrich straight in the eyes. It was time. He was ready.

A loud bang echoed from the close by. Everyone turned their attention to the source. The ornate bell of the shrine that had stood silent for years rang. The dust was still falling off it as it slowly swung. Heinrich was the only one who realized what had happened. He jerked his head to look in the opposite direction. His eyes focused on a hill overlooking the shrine.

"Correction: ten centimetres higher."

"Roger."

Atop the hill, Monty and Sharpe lay prone on the grass.

"Montgomery to Wellington, message has been sent, over."

* * *

"Sharpe, can you fire that gun of yours accurately?" Wellington asked. Sharpe turned around and looked the boy in the eyes for a moment. They both stood in silence as the former waited the latter's answer.

"Are you asking me if I'm willing to kill someone?" Sharpe finally spoke.

Wellington shook his head. "You don't need to–"

"Mate, when a sniper shoots, somebody dies," Sharpe said, without breaking eye contact.

"Haven't you heard of warning shots?" Wellington asked.

"Snipers don't do warning shots. It gives away their position."

"Not with this it doesn't." Wellington took out something that looked like a metal tube.

A single glance at it was all it took for Sharpe's eyes to grow wide with surprise. "Is that a–" He stopped mid-sentence to lower his voice. "Is that a suppressor? Those are illegal."

"I have friends in high places," Wellington said. "So, are you willing?"

Sharpe sighed. "For Richard? Of course." He grabbed the suppressor and started eyeing and weighing it in his palm. "I need a spotter, though. Give me Assam."

"Out of the question!" Wellington said.

Finally satisfied after staring at the metal tube from every angle, Sharpe turned his attention back to Wellington. "She's the best for the job," he said.

"I don't care. I'm not dragging her into this." Wellington frowned.

"I need either a gunner or a commander; those roles are best at spotting. I've already gone through all the options. Patton, Dorian and Ryuu I don't trust. Darjeeling won't be able to stay calm with Richard in combat, and I don't even think she can lie prone with that chest of hers. We don't have enough time to get Heinz or August. That only leaves Assam."

"What about Monty?" Wellington asked.

"That's… actually a great idea. He's even better than Assam at spotting. Why didn't I think of that? We just need to give him an energy drink."

Wellington chuckled. "No need. With his cousin's wellbeing on the line, he'll be awake."

* * *

"So, what do we need to take into account?" Monty asked. "Ambient air temperature? Barometric pressure? Spin drift? Coriolis Effect?"

"Relax," Sharpe said. "We're not shooting from over two kilometres. Just tell me the range, and I'll handle it."

"So I took all these instruments with me for nothing?" Monty looked disappointed at the backpack he was getting ready to open.

"That's what you took with you?! I thought you wanted to have a picnic," Sharp said.

The two had arrived at the small hill almost an hour before Richard's helicopter landed at the temple. Monty wanted to install all of his instruments, but after running a few calculations in his head he agreed that other than wind and distance, taking other factors into account was unnecessary. By the time Heinrich made his appearance, the improvised sniper team was long in position. Prone in the grass, the sun in their back, they were virtually invisible.

"Distance: six hundred meters. Wind speed: nil." Monty said. "Aim for central circle engraving on the shrine bell so I can feed you corrections."

"Roger." Sharpe adjusted his aim. The situation was ideal for a perfect shot. The wind had stopped, so he only had to aim slightly higher than the target. He paid attention to his heartbeats. He wanted to shoot between them. He took calm breaths. One. Two. Three. His lungs filled with air – the bell was nicely position below his crosshair – he breathed out and pulled the trigger.

* * *

A sniper! There was no noise – the weapon must have been supressed, but one could have deduced the sniper position even without the sound. Heinrich couldn't spot the exact position from which the gunner opened fire. The sun was blinding him, but it had to be on that hill overlooking the shrine. The police was definitely not involved. If anything about their location had been discussed on the police channels, he would have been informed. Whoever it was, he was independent. A strange song started playing from Richard's pocket. His phone was ringing. Heinrich stared at the boy's jacket as some unfamiliar rock song looped. "Aren't you going to answer?" he asked.

Richard released the grip of the katana and reached inside his pocket. He slid the screen with his thumb and put it to his ear. "I'm a bit busy…"

"Put me on speaker."

Richard hesitated for a moment. Adrenaline was pumping through his blood, his heart racing. Confused, his initial intention was to ask for clarifications. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He realized it was pointless given the circumstance. There was no time to talk. A gut feeling told him that he should trust his old friend. He touched the screen with his thumb once more to set the conversation on speaker.

"Mr. Heinrich, allow me to introduce myself. I am Thomas Adrian Greenberg, glorious strategist of Eton and a friend of our dear Richard there." Wellington's voice crackled through the speaker of Richard's smartphone, leaving everyone in earshot even more confused than before. Only Heinrich seemed unnaturally amused by it all. The man's tattooed arms shook as he burst into laughter.

"What are you? Some sort of Jew by the sound of your name!" Heinrich cried.

"For your information, my surname is derived from the German _Grünberg_, but we digress." Wellington paused for a second, cleared his throat, then continued on a completely different tone of voice compared to the polite speech he had previously shown. "Listen here, you racist twat; like Berlin in '45, you are surrounded." Just as Wellington's threats came out of the speaker, four men emerged from their hiding places in the bushes around the shrine, surrounding the thugs that had surrounded Richard. Dressed in camouflaged battledresses and armed with assault rifles, their appearance sent a terror through Heinrich's ranks. One of the goons even fell to the ground and dragged himself away from the soldier that appeared behind him. The rest all lifted their arms into the air.

"Get the fock out of 'ere, you sad sods!" one of the soldiers cried. It was highly improbable that all of the thugs knew English. Despite that, every single man in Heinrich's entourage hit the ground running. Richard expected Heinrich to do the same. His guard up, the boy was ready to pursue, but the man didn't move a muscle. In the same position as before, his weapon pointed towards Richard, he smiled.

"Drop the knife!" another soldier shouted. "Drop the knife, kraut!"

The threats didn't seem to faze Heinrich. His smile turned into a grin. He looked at Richard and charged.

* * *

"Captain MacTavish, I need your help."

Wellington explained the situation in minute detail. He needed the captain's help in order for his plan to succeed, and failure was not an option. Lacking Richard's charisma, Wellington could rely only on reason and the small friendship the two had developed interacting over the time.

MacTavish was in charge of the Royal Marines who were stationed aboard HMS Audacious to defend the ship. Having also served on HMS Implacable before it was decommissioned, it could be said that he had a history with Osaka's Eton. Few officers would have found such an assignment desirable, but MacTavish didn't complain. Despite the position being looked down upon in Her Majesty's Naval Service, the man took his job seriously, making sure all visiting rules were strictly enforced and none of his men slacked off. This way, the school ship was safe and his men remained in top shape.

"Lad, you understand you're asking me to trespass on the sovereign territory of Japan? We can end up causing a major diplomatic incident," the man said. His Scottish ancestry was made obvious by both his name and the thick accent.

"They're listening on the police frequency, Captain," Wellington said. "We're their only hope."

MacTavish let out a long and painful sigh. The boy was putting him in a precarious situation. He sat in silence, as if hoping Wellington would simply give up and go away, but the boy was adamant. Even if he wasn't, the Captain had to find a solution, preferably one that did not involve invading Japan. "Bloody hell… fine. But there's only so many of my lads I can rely on. This is basically a bloody black op, for God sake."

Wellington's straight face lit up with an honest smile. "I got us a sniper. And Sébastien served in the French Foreign Legion."

"Great, your butler… You sure got it all planned out… who's the sniper?" MacTavish asked.

"Sharpe's the sniper and Monty's the spotter," Wellington said.

The Captain's jaw dropped. "Are you bloody kidding me, lad. They're kids!" he cried, waving his right hand around.

"With all due respect, sir, we're not exactly going in a combat zone. We'll face at most ten guys armed with cold weapons."

Another long sigh left MacTavish's mouth. He turned to his second in command, a man in his thirties, slightly younger than him, who had listened in silence to the entire exchange. "Gaz, get Mac and Paul. Give 'em the details."

The man nodded. "Aye, captain."

"Does that mean you'll help?" Wellington asked.

"I swore I'd protect you lads, by land, by sea. Get your sniper team ready, and bring that butler of yours too. Hope he can handle a L85."

* * *

The four soldiers and Wellington's butler stood in front of the transport helicopter in full gear. Luck had it that the marines found a battledress to fit Sébastien. "Last chance to complain," MacTavish said to his men. One of them raised his hand.

"With all due respect, sir, we're violating every rule in the book. You just handed a civilian military equipment, and are leading an unsanctioned combat operation in foreign territory. It's insane."

The captain shrugged. "I know, Mac."

"Good, then you can count on us," Mac said. With that out of the way the three soldiers got into the chopper, followed by the Frenchman.

"So, tell me, lad, what's the plan?" MacTavish asked. "If you just wanted to chase them off, you'd have called the police."

"They would have gotten away and continued harassing our students," Wellington said.

"I'm going to shoot them, I hope you know that."

Wellington chuckled. "No need. Tie them up and leave them to the authorities."

"You've got it all figured out, don't you?" MacTavish said as he boarded the helicopter. The blades started cutting through the air.

Wellington nodded. "That's my job."

* * *

Richard wasn't surprised. He had kept his eyes on the man the whole time. The tip of the _Ehrendolch _was moving towards his chest at speed. He let go of his phone and grabbed the hilt of his sword once more. By the time the device hit the ground, Richard had already unsheathed the blade. He released his grip on the scabbard and used his now free left hand to grab Heinrich's right, stopping his knife. At the same time, the katana slashed through the air, closing in on Heinrich's body. Had it continued unimpeded, it could have cut the man in half, from armpit to shoulder, but Heinrich managed to grab Richard's hand. The sharp, one edged blade stopped millimetres short of the man's skin.

In raw strength, Heinrich had the advantage against Richard's still young body, but the position in which the boy put himself changed the odds in his favour. He had but to apply more force to his slash in order to hurt his opponent badly. Heinrich didn't wait for it to happen. He pushed Richard and jumped backwards, just outside the range of the katana. Mid-jump, he switched hands on the knife, freeing his right hand. Richard closed in just enough to put his opponent inside the range of the sword, but not enough to put himself inside the range of the knife. One swipe, the tip of the sword cut through Heinrich's fingers. The _Ehrendolch _fell to the ground, the SS motto engraved on it splattered with blood.

_"__Scheisse!"_ Pain written all over his face, Heinrich spit a cuss. He struggled to focus, fighting back the instinct to grab his lacerated left hand. Disarmed, he appeared defeated. The marines moved in to immobilize him, but Heinrich wouldn't go down just yet. He reached inside his vest and grabbed something… a pistol. After all that time, he still had his trusty Luger. He aimed it at Richard and…

They say your entire life flashes in front of your eyes when you die. Richard didn't plan to find out if that was true. The many hours spent training with Katanako were not wasted like Wellington would have said. In one move, a continuation of the swing that severed Heinrich's fingers, the boy manoeuvred the blade above his opponent, and just before the pistol could be fully pointed at him, brought it down in one powerful swipe.

Heinrich squalled in pain. Blood gushed from his hand and splattered on the ground. His armed, severed, lay on the ground, still grasping the Luger. Heinrich fell to his knees before Richard. Justice, punishment dealt, the boy remembered his days in Germany. A grin grew on his face. The bittersweet taste of vengeance, it had been too long since he last felt it. Like a drug, it flooded his senses. He lifted his blade into the sky, readying to deliver the final blow. He would avenge his father and friends and deliver judgment onto the Nazi before him. The demon had reawakened.

"Noooo!" A sharp cry snapped Richard from his trance. Beka's voice was like a cold slap. The realization of what he had almost done shook him to the core. He was that close to taking a life, reaching the same depths he had in Germany, then overcoming them and plunging into the abyss. Facing Darjeeling as a murderer would have been unthinkable. Beka had just saved him from a life of regret.

Bleeding and in terrible pain, Heinrich still found strength to laugh. "Kill me," he shouted. "Do it!" Richard stood in silence above him, shooting the man an arrogant gaze behind which was hidden his still present shock. "Don't you want to avenge your father? I so enjoyed splattering his brain on the floor."

Richard coiled his fingers around the hilt of the sword until the muscles on his fingers started shaking. He turned his back on his defeated enemy. "You're not worth it. For what you've done to my friends, I've taken your fingers, for my father your hand." The wind picked up again. A cold breeze cooled the boy's sweaty brow. "Tell me, Heinrich, how does it fell to be a cripple? Nazis killed cripples."

One of the soldiers rushed to the maimed man to stop his bleeding. As his hand was patched up, Heinrich passed out. Richard leaned down to pick up his phone. The screen was shattered, but the call was still ongoing. "Richard, are you OK?" From the other side, Wellington was franticly trying to understand the situation.

"I'm fine, mate…" Richard said. A long sigh left his mouth. It was finally over. "Thank you."

"_Sacré bleu_, I didn't image the life of a butler could become so interesting," Sébastien said.

After Richard ended the call with Wellington, he sat back down on the cold stone on of the temple, not in a disciplined position like before, but laying on his back, tired. Beka tried to comfort him. "You did the right thing," she said. "I'm proud of you."

Ming approached the soldiers. Heinrich's bleeding had stopped. He was stable, but still unconscious. "Thank you for your help, gentlemen," Ming said. "I'm glad to see that Richard has surrounded himself with good friends."

"Aye, mate. When I swore I'd protect these kids, I didn't envision invading Japan," MacTavish said. "But I'd do it again if I had to."

Ming smiled. The Irishman's sense of humour reminded him of better times. "I've called the police," Ming said. "You should go."

"Give my regards to Fritz when he wakes up," MacTavish said. He turned to his men who were eager to hear his next orders, as obvious as they were. "Hustle up, lads! Time to exfil."

* * *

Classical music played in the large room of the Tea Garden. Darjeeling, Assam and Orange Pekoe sat at the round table sipping tea. It was one of their usual, albeit recently rare tea parties. It had been a while since Darjeeling had called her friends for such an occasion. She was spending less and less time at the clubhouse, so the gathering was a welcome return to past habits.

The room was silent. On the outside, Darjeeling looked as exquisite as ever, a fresh smile decorating her lips, her gaze either meeting those of her old friends or pointed at the tea. Assam and Pekoe, however, felt that something was amiss. Darjeeling's behaviour was faintly different. She was too silent, and her smile turned bitter when she thought they weren't looking. Her breathing was irregular, quickening without any apparent reason, triggered by hidden thoughts.

Darjeeling stared deeply into the purple-brown shade of second flush Darjeeling tea. "Are you OK, Darjeeling-sama?" Pekoe asked.

"I'm fine, thank you," the girl answered. "How kind of you to ask."

Assam raised an eyebrow. The answer was odd, not what Darjeeling would have normally said. Something was weighing heavily on her heart. She hid it well, but to her close friends, it was still discernable. "Darjeeling-sama, you can count on us for help regarding anything," Assam said.

"No, it's OK, I'm fine, truly," Darjeeling insisted. Something vibrated on the table. It was Darjeeling's phone. She rushed to answer while still trying to keep her composure. "Yes?"

"He's fine," a voice spoke from the other side. It was Wellington. Once more, Darjeeling's breath quickened. She said nothing. "Are you OK?" Wellington asked, confused by the lack of a response.

"Yes, it's… thank you," Darjeeling said.

Taken aback by the sudden gratitude in her voice, Wellington mumbled under his breath. "Yes, you're… err… welcome." For a couple of more heartbeats, she sat in silence, then bid Wellington farewell and ended the call.

She refiled her cup with tea before looking up at Assam and Pekoe with renewed joy in the eyes. "Do you girls want some more too?"


	59. Moving on

"Good morning," Wellington said. Richard closed the door behind him. A fresh smile was on his face, more natural than ever, fuelled by a good night's sleep. The pain of the previous day had been healed in its entirety. Wellington was somewhat taken aback by how good his old friend looked. Even for Richard, to be that radiant was unusual, a pleasant deviation from the norm, although only to those who knew him, as for everyone else, he looked radiant all the time. Indeed, the change was subtle – Wellington felt that Richard wasn't always as happy as he seemed, always pretending to be better than he really was, but this time there was no room of pretence. The stone that had been lifted from his heart must have been heavier than Wellington thought… or perhaps there was something else.

"Good morning!" Richard walked all the way to his friend's desk and placed an ornate metal box on it.

"What is this?" Wellington asked.

"A letter of thanks and a box of high quality tea," Richard said.

Wellington instantly guessed the sender and the intent. "She does know that I have a ton of tea myself, right?"

"Indulge her. It's her way of thanking you," Richard said. "She thought you'd given up when you let me go ahead with the original plan. Heck, even I had lost hope. Why didn't you tell me?"

"And ruin the surprise?" Wellington chuckled. "But seriously, the fewer people who knew about it the better."

"Thank you, mate."

"You're my best driver! And I wanted Darjeeling in top shape for the finals," Wellington added.

"Of course, you're so cool, aren't you?"

"Glad you and Darjeeling made up," Wellington said.

"Yeah, when I got back home she was waiting and–"

"Nope! I don't want to find out," Wellington said. "I don't care if you ravished her all night or just cuddled to save yourselves for marriage. I'd rather live the rest of my life without finding that out." Richard couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Well, with this out of the way, we can finally move on. Next, Jajka. Get on it."

Richard gave his friend an inquisitive look. "Is it just me, or are you thinking about her a lot lately?" he said, raising his eyebrows several times during the sentence. "You're getting soft, Adrian."

"Wellington!" the boy retorted. "How ironic. You calling me soft? I thought I was the arrogant villain who sacrificed everything for victory and you the knight in shining armour who saved maidens in distress."

"You know I don't believe that," Richard said.

"Oh, one more thing. Is it just me or are all of our schedules always full lately? I swear we had more work to do since the match with Gordost than we had before all the other matches combined."

"Well, with all the postponing, there's been a lot more time between the semi-finals and the finals than between the other battles," Richard said.

Wellington thought about it for a moment, before waving his hand dismissively. "That must be it. Yes. Now go find out what's going on with Jajka."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Richard asked.

"I honestly have no idea. You'll think of something," Wellington said. He waved Richard away, but the boy wouldn't budge. He was firmly planted on the desk and wouldn't go away until Wellington came up with a better plan. "Fine, I'll call her myself and organize a meeting… or maybe a surprise visit. Just free your schedule so you can be there to have my back."


	60. Hidden Depths

Wellington walked the dark corridors of the building. The draught carried a faint smell of oil and gunpowder past his nose. Mixed with the humid air, it was repulsive, but following it to its source would lead the boy to his target. The bowls of Bonple's school ship reeked of old age, of mushrooms grown on the pipes, reminiscent of old Implacable's rotten underbelly, only worse. Eton took better care of its ship. Bonple's precarious financial situation, same as that of many other schools, was painfully obvious. In desperate need of renovation, it was a miracle the vessel was still floating.

"Why are we here so early, again?" Richard asked. "I thought the meeting was scheduled for later this evening."

Wellington chuckled. "It's elementary, my dear Richard: a surprise to catch Jajka off guard. What better way to get a read of her? You stick to the shadows and observe. Intervene only if necessary."

Richard nodded. The only thing that could gone wrong was his friend being unable to ask the right questions. Otherwise, it was a fine plan. "Not bad," Richard said.

"I learned from the… best." Before he could finish his sentence, Wellington had to dodge a pipe that came dangerously close to imprinting on his face. Bonple's bowels were just as dangerous as they looked. He took his phone out and used it as a flashlight to see where he was going. The last thing he wanted was to step into some sort of dirty puddle or clean the mushrooms off the pipes with his face.

After a few more minutes stumbling in the dark, the two boys finally reached what appeared to be Jajka's centre of operations. At the end of a corridor, Wellington could discern a faintly lit room with some activity inside. He put on his confidence mask and walked in while Richard vanished in the shadows.

"Wellington? What are you?" Jajka's face showed honest surprise, and not only that. Her cheeks were smeared with eyeliner flowing down from her eyes. She had been crying.

"Bloody hell, you knew I was coming…" Wellington muttered to himself. And how effective her strategy was… she played to his weaknesses. The phone call to bait him, the hour specifically chosen as if to invite an early surprise visit – Jajka was a manipulation genius, and he'd played right into her hand. He could feel the pity fill his heart. He wanted to hug her right there and then. While he kept his stoic façade, feelings of compassion filled his heart… it was disgusting. But what if it wasn't a farce? What if she wasn't faking it? Wellington considered the possibility that she was like him – misunderstood, painted in a much worse light than she deserved. No, such a thing was not possible, Wellington thought, and even if it were, she'd only be reaping what she had sowed. It wasn't his business, he told himself. Besides, Richard's reaction to her suggested she was far from a saint. His friend was the best judge of character. He wouldn't have treated her so bad if he wasn't certain about her true self.

"You arrived early!" Jajka said. She rubbed her cheeks and eyes with a handkerchief and put on a strong act. "It's not polite to show up uninvited." Looking around, Wellington noticed a boy messing around with the components of a tank gun on the floor. Other than that, the room was empty.

"I see you've upped your game," Wellington said. "Finally figured out that just plain seduction with no variation won't get you anything?"

"What– what are you talking about?" Jajka asked. Once more she seemed honest… honestly confused, to be more exact. It was starting to tick Wellington off. He didn't remember her being so good at lying. "You shouldn't be here. He hasn't left yet."

Wellington raised an eyebrow. "Don't play the pronoun game with me," he said.

"Oi, Jajka, who the fuck's this guy?" From behind, a familiar voice rang in Wellington's ears. It was the same fool who'd picked Jajka up after their first meeting, quite a while before. He was still the perfect image of a douchebag, with his ballcap placed backwards on his head and a smug, idiotic smile on his face. The grin vanished when he recognized Wellington. "Shit, it's that fucker with the other fucker. What the hell do you want?" The boy flinched at first. He looked around, searching for something. Wellington guessed that something to be Richard. His friend had left quite the impression on the poor sod the last time they met. The more the boy scanned his surroundings, the more his confidence came back. "You owe me a knife, you fuck. Why'd you call him here, bitch?"

Jajka upper lip curled in disdain. "We need his help. You know that."

"I didn't know you answered to 'bitch'," Wellington said. "It's so much easier to pronounce than Jajka." Poking fun at her, the boy hoped to get out as many reactions as possible for Richard to interpret, although he couldn't deny he loved getting back at her as well, regardless of her situation. The reaction he got was not the one he expected. Jajka looked at him as if she was blaming him for not siding with her – as if she had expected him to side with her.

"How many times did you fuck him to get him here?" the rude boy asked.

Wellington did his best not to burst into laughter. Jajka frowned. "How dare you?" she cried. Far more in control than before, she dared to stare the boy down, until he started walking towards her. With every step he took, Jajka's confidence waned. When he was right next to her, the defiance in her eyes was completely replaced by fear. The boy brought his hand down on her face, hard enough to make her stumble.

"Did you just slap her? How barbaric…" Wellington said. "Can't say she doesn't deserve it, though…" He pretended to be unfazed, his face showing nothing but indifference and contempt. Inside, however, he pitied her. So it hadn't been planned after all. It seemed too real to be staged. A part of Wellington was disappointed for having overestimated her. Another was conflicted about whether to help or leave her reap what she sowed. "Domestic violence aside, I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Wellington added.

"Shut the fuck up!" the boy yelled. "I'm not done with her." Jajka had barely kept the balance needed to stay on her own two feet. Her face frozen with fear, she stumbled backwards, trying to get away from her attacker. "Stupid bitch, I'll teach you to talk down to me! You promised victory, glory… yourself! You haven't delivered jack shit."

"Wait, did she actually promise herself explicitly?" Wellington asked.

"Well… not explicitly…" the boy mumbled.

"Hah, you, sir, clearly do not understand seduction. I can't believe you've been played more than I have!" Wellington's facetious outburst served only to aggravate the rude boy. Without another word, he raised his hand, this time with fingers clenched into a fist, ready to strike at Jajka.

The girl closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, awaiting the inevitable blow and the pain that followed. It didn't come. Instead, Wellington's voice echoed through the room. "Enough!" When Jajka opened her eyes, she flinched. The boy still had his fist up, but Wellington had grabbed his arm before he could swing. "Bloody hell, man, have some decency!" She gaped, wide-eyed at the man she had tried to seduce. Had it worked? Had she managed to get a grip of his heart? Was that why he was protecting her, or was he really the foolish idealist he said he was?

"Let go, you shit!" the boy yelled. He jerked his arm away from Wellington's grip, strong enough to escape it. His fist came down and without being aimed, struck Jajka straight in the jaw. The girl fell to the ground. A tickle of blood flowed from her lip. What little adrenaline was in her system was not enough to hold off the pain for long. When it finally registered, the girl broke down crying like a child.

"Now look what you've made me do!" the boy yelled.

"But you–" Wellington let out a pained sigh. "By God, you're an imbecile."

"What did you–" The rude boy's raised his voice once more, only to stop mid-sentence. His eyes, filled with terror, were pointed at something, or someone behind Wellington. "Y-you!" he cried.

Wellington chuckled. So his friend finally decided to make an appearance. It was about time. He turned around, expecting to find a pissed off Richard behind him. Instead, he saw Beka shaking her head with disappointment. "Huh? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Wellington asked.

"Wladek-chan and Uszka-chan were concerned about Eggs," Beka said. "They sent me to check on her."

"About whom?" Wellington asked, more confused than before.

"Jajka means eggs, didn't you know?" Beka explained. Without waiting for any confirmation from Wellington, she turned her attention to the rude boy behind him. "I thought I told you to straighten out!" she said, wiggling her finger at him.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Stay away from me you devil!" the rude boy took a few steps back, shaking like a leaf.

"I'm not the devil, silly. Richie is. I'm the tiger," Beka said.

Richard finally walked out of his hiding place. "I gave up that title," he said. His appearance served only to further panic the rude boy, whose skin had turn white as he desperately looked around for an escape route.

Wellington gave up on trying to understand what was going on and walked to Jajka. She was still lying on the ground, like a scared cat, blood drying on her lower lip. "Are you OK?" he asked her. His tone lacked any form of empathy, but the simple act of asking showed otherwise. He offer her his hand.

The girl looked up, her eyes moist, fighting back the urge to start crying again. Her previously cleaned cheeks were once more black with eyeliner. The terrified look on her face gave in to a bitter smile the likes of which Wellington had never seen before. He could only ponder on whether it was intentional or merely a slip. "Thank you," she said. She stuttered, her voice trembled, but she was grateful. She took his hand. The boy grasped it, soaked in tears as it was, and helped her get up.

"Quiet the trouble you've gotten yourself into," Wellington said. He reached inside his pocket and offered Jajka a clean handkerchief. She took it and once more started to clean her cheeks.

"I had to eat _somehow_!" she said. Her attempt to put on a strong face was as admirable as it was futile. The girl's lip had swollen slightly and black was smeared all over her face. She looked deplorable, her beauty tarnished, but despite that, still attractive – a lucky winner of the genetic lottery, Wellington thought.

"Back to your usual self, I see," Wellington muttered. "Wait, what do you mean eat?"

"What do you think happened after Bonple cut my scholarship? I almost had to prostitute myself to people like him!" Jajka shouted.

Wellington realized he was being insensitive – not that he cared. He kept telling himself that whatever Jajka was going through had been coming for her. That excuse was starting lose its effectiveness, though. "What about your parents?"

"I have no parents!" Jajka cried. The tears she'd been fighting to hold back started rolling down her cheeks again, washing the eyeliner from them.

"And you decided that the best way to improve your life is to alienate all potential friends and surround yourself with superficial twats?"

Wellington's roaring accusation was the last drop. Jajka's crumbling mask could withstand no more. It fell down, shattered. The girl started sobbing. With the makeup washed away, the skin on her face had turned from black to red, just like her bloodshot eyes. "If life has taught me anything… it's that… I can't trust anyone! Everyone did the same to me as a child! I had to use my only strength…"

Another victim of modern society and its lack of morals – Wellington had seem many. He looked at Richard for one final check, to see if she wasn't faking it, as improbable as it was. The boy shook his head. It was genuine. Wellington sighed. "Jajka… Jajka!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. "Promise me you will change for the better, and I'll get a spot at Eton," Wellington said. The proposal left both Beka and Richard with their mouths wide open. Jajka herself stopped crying. She looked up, pure surprise in her still wet eyes. The surprise turned to doubt. She shook her head. "I don't believe you."

"Well, you better believe it! And learn that it was not your petty seduction that gained you this offer, but good will the likes of which you say you've never seen before. Not everyone is a selfish tosser."

"You'd do that… for me?" Jajka asked. "Can you?"

"Well, you had a scholarship before so you can't be a complete idiot," Wellington said.

"But… won't that ruin your reputation… I'm a black sheep."

"Like I give a tinker's cuss about what people think. Those who don't like me won't be surprised. I say publish and be damned! As for those who know me – they will understand." Jajka's tears made a short return – only this time they were accompanied by a warm smile – she tried to embrace the boy. He pushed her away. "I still have a girlfriend, you know. And don't disappoint me. I'm putting a lot of faith in you."

In an act of unexpected humility, Jajka took a step back and knelt on one knee. "You said you'll allow me to stay in your shadow if I knelt before you. Thank you," she said.

Wellington grabbed her and lifted her to her feet. "I just hope this newfound modesty of yours sticks," he said.

After finally getting over their initial shock, Beka and Richard started exchanging glances. "So, are we going to argue, or can I break his legs?" Richard asked.

"Nope. He got his second chance. He's not getting a third. You can beat him half to death," Beka said. "Come on, Eggs, Richard will handle this." The three youngsters walked out of the room, leaving only Richard behind with his helpless prey.

Jajka stopped at the door. "Don't go too hard on him," she said. "He might be a jerk but he did help me. He only tried to rape me like… twice… on second thought, you can kill him." With that said, she turned around and left.

Richard cracked his knuckles as the rude boy started cursing his former partner. "Jajka, you whore! I should have ditched you when I had the chance!" The girl didn't care. She walked away from her former master. Hopefully the one she exchanged him for would be better.

Most of the way back to the helicopter was silent. Jajka contemplated on her situation. It was the first time someone had been nice to her. The only way to get help before was to intimidate or seduce. This was all new. "I can't believe Uszka and Wlad sent you for me…" she mumbled.

Baka had her trademark grin on. The last time Jajka had seen it, it was terrifying. This time she was relieved. It felt good to have that beast on her side. "Like Addie–"

"Wellington!"

"–said it: not everyone is scum. So you better straighten up, girly." Beka wagged her index finger at the girl like a mother would at a naughty child. A devilish smile crawled up her face. It reminded Jajka how intimidating Beka could be. "I don't give third chances. So be nice or you'll have a bad time." Jajka gulped and nodded her head. Beka's smile returned to normal. She grabbed Jajka, pulled her close and scuffled her hair like she used to Wladek's. "Write a thank you letter to your former schoolmates."

"Actually," Jajka said hesitantly. "I'd like to… visit them, if I may…" She looked at Wellington with pleading eyes.

Wellington chuckled nervously and avoided her gaze. He didn't know how to react to the request for permission. It wasn't like he was her boss. "Go ahead… get your stuff… say your goodbyes. We'll wait for you," he finally spoke.

Jajka lips curved in a happy smile, the second honest smile Wellington had seen from her. "Thank you," she said. He prayed to God the changes would stay.

* * *

"So, did you really break that guy's legs?" Wellington asked.

"Nah, I'm putting that habit behind me. I just gave him a real scare," Richard said. "So, do you really think Jajka'll change?"

"I don't know, but I hope so. If her past is really like she said, she deserves a second chance."

"You're a big softy," Richard said.

"That makes the two of us."


	61. Earl Grey returns

_AN: Here's the PGN for the chess game that will be played in this chapter, for those who want to see the match. Just google "__chess pgn online" to find some decent browser based programs to view it, if you want._

[White "Wellington"]  
[Black "Earl Grey"]  
1\. e4 e5 2. f4 exf4 3. Bc4 Qh4+ 4. Kf1 b5 5. Bxb5 Nf6 6. Nf3 Qh6 7. d3 Nh5 8.  
Nh4 Qg5 9. Nf5 c6 10. g4 Nf6 11. Rg1 cxb5 12. h4 Qg6 13. h5 Qg5 14. Qf3 Ng8 15.  
Bxf4 Qf6 16. Nc3 Bc5 17. Nd5 Qxb2 18. Bd6 Qxa1+ 19. Ke2 Bxg1 20. e5 Na6 21.  
Nxg7+ Kd8 22. Qf6+ Nxf6 23. Be7# *

* * *

The desk in Wellington's office was almost empty. Other than a single folder covering a lonely tea stain, the dark brown maple wood of the table was exposed for all to see – a rare sight. The bookcases on the wall also had their contents rearranged, put back in alphabetical order after having being shuffled for months due to Wellington's disinterest. It was hard to notice to someone who didn't visit it regularly, but the office was subtly more presentable than usual.

The door opened – Earl Grey came in. "Good evening," she greeted.

"Welcome back. How was London?" Wellington asked.

"As dreary as ever," Earl Grey answered. Despite her response, she smiled as always. She put down her large purse and made herself comfortable in the armchair in front of Wellington's desk. The flight from England had been long and tiresome, and she had little time to rest when she got home. From the Kansai International Airport, she took a helicopter ride to HMS Audacious, then spent the whole night catching up with the girls at the Tea Garden. After two combined flights and one slumber party, Earl Grey was exhausted. Despite that, she couldn't refuse Wellington's invitation. Luckily, with most of the morning free, she caught some sleep.

"Ugh, you're telling me!" Wellington said. "The weather gets me every time I go home."

"Oh, I brought you something!" Earl Grey jumped with enthusiasm. She reached inside her bag and started the long search. Up to her elbow in the purse, she dug through the contents. Wellington never could understand why women complicated their lives so. He once had to wait half an hour for Assam to find something in her bag. It reminded him of Germany's over-engineered cats.

"You got me a souvenir from my home town?" Wellington asked. "How thoughtful…" he mumbled. The sarcasm was obvious, but Earl Grey chose to ignore it.

"Ah, here it is," she said. Wellington was relieved it only took ten minutes. Earl Grey pulled out a large box.

"Wait, it took you so long to find that huge thing?" Wellington asked.

"No. I gave up on finding the first gift and went straight to the second," Earl Grey explained. "Maybe I should have started with this one."

"Is that a chess set?" Wellington asked. Earl Grey held a box tied with a single red ribbon, with 'Tank Chess' written on it.

"The pieces are little tanks," the girl said.

"I find that strangely appealing. Thank you," Wellington said. He unwrapped the box and gave it a good, long look. It seemed a bit big for a simple chessboard. At closer inspection, it included more than two sets of pieces. One German set, one British, one Soviet, one French and one American themed sets were available for play. "What to play?"

"I get to play the British, of course," Earl Grey said.

"Of course," Wellington mumbled. "I'll take the Russians, then, I guess…" The boy took out the chessboard and the pieces and started arranging them on the checkered wooden slab. "My pawn is the T-26 and you get the Matilda II? That's hardly fair." Earl Grey didn't respond, instead choosing to wait silently for Wellington to arrange the pieces, with her usual smile on. The Soviet rook was a KV-2, a good aesthetic choice given its height. Its British counterpart was the Churchill, the Mark VII from the looks of the model. Next, the two knights were BT-7 and Cromwell, both cavalry tanks with the Christie suspension, and the bishops a T-34-76, late model with the commander's cupola, and a Challenger on the British side.

"Comet versus T-44," Earl Grey said. She pointed at the queens as Wellington placed put them in position. "It reminds me of your match against Gordost." By the time she finished speaking, the kings too were in position. IS-3 and Black Prince, heavy, slow and not exactly reliable, Wellington thought they were an interesting choice for the piece. He would have chosen a command variant of a tank, had the choice been his, but at least some of the parallels were valid.

All the pieces were in place, neatly lined up and ready for battle. With the Soviet side painted in winter livery, Wellington had the privilege of going first. "I'm white," he said.

"Yes you are. Go ahead." Earl Grey gestured approval. Going second was a sacrifice she was willing to make to play the Brits. Wellington moved the T-26 in front of his IS-3 two squares forward without even looking at it. Instead, his eyes judged Earl Grey. He hadn't played chess in a while. Meanwhile, Earl Grey was a lady of great elegance, so it wouldn't have surprised him if she was adept at the game. The question was… could she beat him? "Matilda at E5," the girl said and move her piece.

Wellington's T-26 and the Matilda II, vanguards of the tank divisions behind them, stared each other down in the centre of the battlefield. Had such an encounter occurred in real life, the Soviet light tank would have stood no chance, but in the world of chess, the two could only face each other powerlessly. Without a word, Wellington moved another T-26 two spaces, to F4, right next to his other pawn. In the sights of Earl Grey's Matilda, it was a sacrificial offering to its imaginary 2-pounder.

"You're toying with me," Earl Grey said. "Fine, I'll bite. Matilda takes T-26." She grabbed Wellington's pawn and placed it next to the board. Wellington wondered whether she was feinting or whether she genuinely didn't recognize the move. Even if she didn't, she could still pose a threat.

"It's called the King's Gambit," Wellington said. "You just accepted it."

"Is that a bad thing?" Earl Grey asked.

"Not at all…" The move was common in the 19th century, but it became less so with the development of defensive techniques. At the level Wellington normally played, however, it was still useful. The boy made his next move, T-34 to C4.

"Comet to H4," Earl Grey said and moved her queen in position. "Check." Another impossible real life situation – a heavy IS-3 endangered by the 77mm HV. The vehicle would have been more likely do break down than be knocked out. Wellington moved his threatened IS-3 one square to the right, to F1. "Matilda to B5," Earl Grey moved. Wellington chuckled. He gave the chess board a long look before reaching inside his pocket and taking out his phone. "You have a message?" Earl Grey asked.

"No, I'm just curious about something. Should I start a clock?"

"No need," Grey said. The boy tapped his screen for a minute, then made his next move. The developed T-34 trampled Earl Grey's Matilda. "Cromwell to F6," the girl moved. Wellington mirrored her, moving his BT-7 to F3. It thus threatened the girl's Comet. At least this time, the 45mm could actually penetrate its target in real life, even if not frontally. "Comet to H6," Earl Grey pulled back. Wellington moved a T-26 to D3, before taking another glance at his phone. "Chatting with your new friend?" Earl Grey asked. "Cromwell to H5."

"Beg your pardon?" Wellington once more mirrored her move, bringing his BT-7 right in front of her Cromwell, at H4, before giving her a look of honest confusion.

"I can't believe you've allowed that girl in your team," Earl Grey said. She scanned her host for reactions. The reaction came instantly.

"Ah, she's not so bad once you get to know her," the boy said. "Well, at least since she's changed."

Earl Grey faint smile grew larger, as if she had learned something unexpected from Wellington's words. "She always came off as a bit of a…"

"Bitch?" Wellington asked. "I don't blame you. Even Richard read her like that at first."

Earl Grey chuckled. Wellington had a tendency to mention Richard a bit too often. She found the respect Wellington had for his friend to be interesting, even if she didn't hold him in as high regard. Compared to Darjeeling and Wellington, she had other standards – not necessarily higher as much as different. Despite that, Earl Grey's opinion of her host never deteriorated. If anything, it served to make her reconsider the initial impression she made of Richard. "I thought he was never wrong about people," the girl said.

"He's not," Wellington said. "She was that before finally learning her lesson."

"Still, of all people, you chose to adopt one who ended Tankathlon with a single mistake…" Earl Grey said.

"Come on, Grey, you're smarter than that. Tankathlon was a disaster waiting to happen. She's just the unlucky first to have it blow in her face." The comeback left Earl Grey without words for a few moments. It was normally she who led the conversations and defeated Wellington with well-chosen arguments, not the other way around. The boy had come a long way since their last meeting. "It could have just as well been any member of any other school."

"Touché," Earl Grey said. A bright smile decorated her face as she admitted defeat, but slowly vanished afterwards, washed away by sombre thoughts. The girl eyes flickered with regret. "None of the big schools are proud of having taken part in that…"

"Yes, I've recently watched a replay of the match that started it all… the one at Ooarai. I can't believe nobody died."

"Everybody thought it was such a good idea at the time. I personally didn't approve, but I did much to stop it. I should have." Earl Grey gazed outside the window at the passing clouds, buried in memory.

Wellington's sight was directed at the board. He taped his fingers on the desk, his attention split between the game and the conversation. "What's done is done. No sense dwelling on the past," he said.

"True that. So, tell me, how are things with Assam?" Changing the subject, the dark clouds of regret over Earl Grey dissipated as suddenly as they appeared.

"Great. She even helped me tidy things up here for your visit. By the way, it's your move," Wellington said. Earl Grey chuckled. She didn't want to inquire further. Regardless, it was adorable that the boy was still uncomfortable talking about his girlfriend.

The girl returned her attention to the board. She quietly scanned it as she had previously scanned Wellington. The BT-7 and Cromwell faced off at the edge of the battlefield. Her face lit up. "Comet to G5!" she exclaimed. Filled with satisfaction, she moved her queen. From that position, it could strike at two of Wellington's pieces, forcing him to sacrifice one. "So, will you give me your T-34 or BT-7?" she asked. As pieces, the two were of equal value, even if historically, the T-34 a generation newer, and far better, so Earl Grey curiously awaited the boy's decision.

"Neither," Wellington said. He moved his BT-7 to F5. Under the protective wing of a T-26, it was safe while also cutting off the Comet's strike at the T-34. Earl Grey's attack had been thwarted. Disappointed, she tried another angle of attack.

"Matilda to C6, she says hello to your T-34," Earl Grey said.

"T-26 to G4, says hello to your Cromwell," Wellington said.

"As expected of the glorious strategist," Earl Grey said. "Cromwell to F6," she moved. The two cavalry tanks stood in face of each other again. Wellington moved his KV-2 to G1. "Okay…" The girl hesitated for a moment, searching for a trap. "Fine… Matilda knocks out your T-34." Wellington didn't react in any way. He stood like a stone, occasionally looking at his phone screen, but never flinching despite what Earl Grey thought was a good move on her side. He made his next move, T-26 to H4. The puny light tank was threatening her Comet. She moved it one square towards her Matilda line, to G6. Wellington's pawn pursued, threatening the queen again. "Driver, forward," Earl Grey said and moved the Comet back to where it started, at G5.

"I guess it's time I start moving Peter around," Wellington said and moved his T-44 to F3.

"Oh, you're trying to box me in?" Earl Grey asked. "Cromwell to F4." With the knight retreated behind friendly lines again, the girl's side looked terribly undeveloped, but at least she could retreat with her Comet, and just in time. Wellington moved his remaining T-34 to F4, trampling a Matilda and threatening to knock out the Comet. "Go easy on me, will you," Earl Grey said. She pouted like a little girl, but Wellington could guess it was an act. Going easy would have been an insult. Regardless, he'd gotten refreshing reactions out of her throughout the match. "Comet to F6." Once more, the girl pulled back.

"You should have played with the French," Wellington said. He moved the BT-7 he'd kept in reserve to C3.

"Oh, you tease! Challenger to C5."

"Finally developing something else than your Comet?" Wellington said and moved his BT-7 again, this time to D5, in striking range of Earl Grey's queen.

"My Comet blows up your little T-26 at B2," Earl Grey said. Wellington responded by moving his T-34 to D6. "Comet blows up KV-2. Check… Am I winning?" Earl Grey looked at the board. It seemed so. Wellington moved the IS-3, to E2, exposing his KV-2 to attack from the Comet, and not only that. "Challenger knocks out your other KV-2…" The girl was getting suspicions. Wellington moved a T-26 to E5. "Are you making fun of me? I've destroyed both you KV-2s and are hunting down you IS-3 and you move a T-26?"

"Yup," Wellington said, fully confident.

"Fine… Cromwell to A6," Earl Grey moved. She squinted her eyes at Wellington, hoping to get a reaction, to no avail.

Wellington moved his right BT-7 to G7. "Check," he said.

Earl Grey kept staring at him, instead of at the board, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. She reached to move her king out of harm's way. "Black Prince to D8." Wellington moved his T-44 to F6. Earl Grey gasped. It was in range of her Cromwell. "Wait… you're giving me Peter?"

"I am," Wellington said.

Earl Grey realized that she was either winning or walking in a trap. Was Wellington going easy on her? "Cromwell knocks out T-44 at F6. Now you're out good pieces… why did you waste time with that T-26?"

Wellington finally dropped his poker face. He smiled. "Check mate." The T-34 slowly moved to E7, trapping Earl Grey's Black Prince. There was no way out for it. It didn't matter that the T-34 couldn't even scratch the heavy British infantry tank, and the T-26 that covered them could do even less.

"You sneaky…" Earl Grey mumbled. She stared at the board, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. "You win…"


	62. Unfathomable Depths, Part 1

Jajka struggled to keep up with Wellington's pace. The boy was taller; his legs were longer. Walking for him was the equivalent of a jog for her. Even in an age of globalization, when the Japanese people had an infusion of foreign blood in their nation, and very few children had a full Japanese heritage, the average height in the country was still small compared to Europe.

"Your troop is pursued by Top's Shermans. In front of you lies muddy ground. What do you do?" Wellington asked.

Jajka furrowed her brow, thinking hard for the answer. Wellington stared her down as he walked, quietly pressuring her for a quick response. The girl avoided his gaze to buy more time. "Err… I've got light tanks… go through the mud, they won't keep up?"

"Wrong. Easy Eights have HVSS, wider threads and thus lower ground pressure," Wellington said.

"Right, then I go around the mud, to keep up what little speed advantage I have."

"What speed advantage do you have?" Wellington asked.

"If I recall correctly, not a big one, but the Christie suspension should allow better off-road performance."

"Correct." The boy massaged his brow to take away the pain caused by the constant frowning he'd been doing during the whole conversation. "What about engagement ranges?"

"Little John, frontally, aim for the turret. Otherwise, ambush from the sides to shoot at the side armour." Jajka recited the info like poetry. She'd learned it all in a single night, at her new commander's request. It would take some time to get used to not being in charge. "6-pounder… the same."

"That's the Shermans. What about the heavies?"

"Avoid," Jajka said.

"Correct."

"Of course, what did you expect?" Jajka asked. "They called me Grandmaster, forgot?"

Wellington chuckled. The girl was cocky. He had to teach her some humility. "Oh, really? Then let's try something more difficult. A Sherman Jumbo is driving towards you, but hasn't seen you hiding in the bushes. What do you do?"

"Shoot it in the turret," Jajka said, all matter-of-fact.

"Wrong. The Jumbo turret is impervious from all angles from your armament. From what distance can your penetrate the turret of a Pershing, frontally?"

"I can't," Jajka said.

"Wrong, you can from under 500 and 100 meters, respectively. With what weapon at what distance?"

By then, Jajka was simply making educated guesses. She remembered vaguely skimming something about what Wellington asked her, but she'd gotten bored and elected to instead watch his match against Kuromorimine. It was far more entertaining to watch the boy crush those arrogant fools. "500 for the 6 pounder APCBC, 100 with the Little John?"

"Wrong. The other way around," Wellington said.

"What?" Jajka stared in disbelief, but the boy preferred looking forward as he walked rather than at her.

"I don't know. That's what my penetration calculator said, and it hasn't failed me so far. Still, it'd be best to just shoot at the sides, to be sure." He stopped. The walk was over; they'd arrived at the front door of the clubhouse. Wellington reached inside his pocket, searching for the key.

"Go easy on me, will you? I can only learn so much in a night…" Jajka's voice trailed off as her lips curled in a seductive smile. She opened her mouth slightly, leaned in and breathed down Wellington's nape as the boy dug through his pockets. "Now, if you were there to… assist me…"

"No," Wellington said deadpan. He ignored the chills that went down his spine – not an easy task in the slightest – and kept trying to grab the troublesome keychain in his trousers. To reach up to the back of his head, Jajka had to stand on her toes. The feeling of her breasts pushing against his back was a sensation difficult to brush aside, even though two pairs of clothes. "Have everything in your head by tomorrow or I'll send you back to Bonple," Wellington threatened.

"You don't really mean that? I'm hurt." Clearly not taking him seriously, the girl took a step back and faked petulant sadness, only to be disregarded again.

"You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs," Wellington said. Jajka couldn't stop the laughter from coming out, but she tried to suppress it to a chuckle. Wellington finally managed to take the elusive keys from their hiding place and open the door.

"You want to break me, Wellington-kun?" Jajka insisted with seductive antics, slowly picking away at his patience, hoping to get another reaction. The boy didn't indulge her. Stoic, he held the door open and gestured her to go in first.

It hadn't been long until students started gossiping about Wellington and Jajka's relationship. The girl's playful teases meant nothing to Eton's commander and his close friends knew it, but from the outside, it looked like something was going on between them. Wellington had spent too much time alone with his new protégée, despite Richard's warnings. Even if he knew his friend was savvier, Wellington chose not to act on them. He ended up regretting it. Gossip of him cheating on his girlfriend with the new transfer student spread. Assam's faith in him, however, never wavered. He started to bring her as often as possible when he met Jajka, but rather than curb the rumours, this instead lead to talk of threesomes.

It took the combined efforts of Darjeeling and Richard to calm down the discussions and not after long everyone dismissed it as absurd, despite being considered fact mere days before. All is well that ends well, Wellington would have wanted to say, but he was certain that the whole debacle had consequences that were not yet apparent. Jajka in particular seemed to enjoy the attention all too much.

Wellington entered the clubhouse right after the girl. Jajka's tone became milder, as if she was satisfied with how much she'd teased her new commander. Or, perhaps, it was because Assam was bound to arrive at any moment to join them. She was hesitant to flirt with Wellington with her around, not of fear of the former Gloriana student as much as of the boy himself.

With the flip of a switch, the lights turned on. White flooded the corridor, revealing another door at its opposite end. Wellington closed the one they'd just entered through and pushed Jajka forward. The touch of his hand on her back sent a tingling sensation through the girl's skin. The sound of his voice, as cold as it was, reminded her why she was trying to change. "I hope that you won't bother me about Tankathlon even more, now that you see me every day."

"Not at all. I have no more reason to," the girl said.

"What reason did you have before?"

"I needed the revenue a good match could win me… which meant either fighting with or against you."

"That's it? Money?" Wellington asked. "I thought you loved Tankathlon, considered it the true Sensha-dou."

Jajka hesitated to respond. She upped her pace, putting herself in front of Wellington, hiding her expression from his gaze in the process. "I did at first," she mumbled, "when I didn't have to scrape by. Things change… and it ended up being my only means of survival. You have no idea how difficult it is to find sponsors and crews and to balance everything."

Wellington seemed unaffected by the sudden change of tone. He'd gotten used to her melancholy episodes as he had to her playful teases and seduction. "You obviously failed," the boy retorted. He didn't like being left behind, and to top it off, Jajka's undersized skirt was distracting. What was it with Japan and miniskirt uniforms? He started taking longer steps, rapidly catching up with the girl.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Jajka stopped in front of the door leading out of the hall. Her gaze fell to the floor. Regret swept over her face, a sombre look that took away her mask of confidence. Wellington chose not to pursue the issue further. He'd been insensitive as it was. No apology was given except for the silence, which was more than Wellington usually dispensed.

The two stood in silence in front of the closed door, Wellington gazing at the girl's honey blonde hair and she at the ground. It was a shade darker than Darjeeling, which was too a shade darker than Assam's. It was as if the colour reflected the level of innocence in their hearts. Something inside him made Wellington want to reach out and pat the girl on the head, to comfort her in those dark moments. He held back. Jajka caused strange feelings to coalesce in his heart, confusing feelings he feared to face. He could but wonder how things would have changed had they met earlier, had she changed earlier, had her feelings been genuine instead of proven fake by her thoughtless teases. Regardless, there was nothing to consider. His heart was no longer his to give. It belonged to someone else now.

Wellington shook his head. He pushed the door and once more shoved Jajka first inside. There was work to do. "Come on, Eggs," the boy said. "We'll make a commander of you yet."


	63. Unfathomable Depths, Part 1,5

Thunderous boom – the 76mm M1A2 spat out fiery death, a hot piece of metal hurled towards the enemy. It whizzed through the air at supersonic speed. The 50 millimetres of armour were no match for the hellish projectile – it cut through like it was nothing, going straight for its target, left of the driver, the ammo rack. The vehicle lit up like fireworks, its turret sent high into the air. Fire and smoke covered its burning carcass as its severed head fell to the ground to the left, its cannon limp.

_"Kurwa!"_ Jajka's voice resonated through the room. "That was my last tank!" She crossed her arms, the corners of her mouth turned down, like an angry child she refused to even look at the screen that taunted her with a defeat message.

"Relax, your scouting was great," Wellington said. "Couldn't have done it better myself."

"Well, she could have harassed better…" Assam said. "And I could swear that those grazing shots at me were intentional." With an expression of concern, she threw Jajka a glance that was left unreturned. Still irritated by the theme of defeat that was playing over the image of her last Crusader tank burning on the screen, the girl was too busy pouting.

The three were playing a real time tactics simulation game that Monty and some of his friends had modified themselves, based on some other simulator game Wellington didn't care much about because it included more than just tanks. He could remember many a time when he wanted to play out a scenario, only to have the enemy AI sit its tanks doing nothing or attack with infantry, an element that did not exist in Sensha-dou. Monty's work had saved him a lot of pain. It didn't have the best graphics on the market, but the hyper-realistic combat allowed for in depth Sensha-dou scenario testing. The level of detail of everything, from reliability, to fuel consumption, to projectile behaviour was astonishing, with settings for breakdown frequency, weather and the like. Wellington couldn't have asked for a superior practice application.

The game they were playing was meant as bonus lessons, to train Jajka's light tank tactics against heavier opponents, the like of which she had not faced in Tankathlon. It wasn't enough to exercise in a game, against the computer, but it was far easier to set up virtual scenarios, so Wellington had Jajka play as much as possible on top of her usual live training. After numerous matches, the so-called Grandmaster had reached the point where she no longer needed the Glorious Strategist sit behind her to point out her every mistake. Games slowly turned from lessons to pleasure matches as Wellington, Assam and Jajka, on top of whoever had time to spare, played cooperative missions and competitive multiplayer matches with each other.

"See, we won. Told you," Wellington said just as the anthem of victory started playing from his speakers. "You do realize that you're likely to get taken out when we face Roosevelt?"

"So that's it? You'll just sacrifice me like a pawn?" Jajka's tone came off a lot more honest than usual. Unlike her faked childish acts, Wellington's declaration seemed to have affected her.

Wellington let out a long sigh. "More like a Knight that is sacrificed to surgically remove a vital enemy piece," he said. "But we digress. It's not like you'll die."

"I die a little inside when you say that," the girl retorted. Wellington sighed again, this time relieved that Jajka had returned to her usual playful demeanour. It was the more toned down version, the one she displayed when Assam was around, as opposed to the more tease intensive version she displayed when Assam wasn't. Regardless, it meant that the girl accepted his explanation. The last thing he wanted was to start another argument with someone over how easily he sacrifices his tanks.

Wellington very much appreciated that Jajka was sensible enough not to make dubious jokes around his girlfriend. If only he could convince her to stop making advances when Assam was not around as well. Still, he counted his blessings and moved on. The girl had changed – Richard assured him it was no mere act – even if her cheeky attitude stayed.

Assam, on the other hand, was different. They'd gotten much closer, but the girl didn't act like Darjeeling or Erwin when it came to romance. In private, they were as intimate as Richard and Darjeeling were in public, maybe a bit more. In public, Assam was far less clingy, even when Jajka was present, which was strange. Wellington would have expected her to try and keep him away from potential rivals – as implausible a rival as Jajka was. Darjeeling did it with Richard, firmly attaching herself to his arm whenever a potential competitor was near, even if Wellington considered it highly implausible that Darjeeling would even have competition. Assam was not like that. Maybe she shied away, maybe she trusted him, maybe both.

"OK, game's over, go outside and play," Wellington said. A cold breeze brushed his brow. He got up from his computer and closed the window that he'd kept open the whole time. Night was falling. It was getting chilly.

"But I only want to play with–" Jajka stopped midsentence, as if she realized she was about to say something stupid. Not that the stupidity of her teases prevented her under normal circumstances. Wellington could have guessed what she wanted to say. He threw a dismissive glance at her, then went to shut down his computer. Why the girl insisted so much with such jokes was beyond him. The boy couldn't fathom what she had to gain, nor why she enjoyed it if that were case. But then again, to him, women were such incomprehensible things. Best to shrug and move on, hoping for the best. No point in worry for that over which you have no control – or so he thought.


	64. Unfathomable Depths, Part 2

_AN: Dear readers, in case you haven't heard from me before, I highly appreciate critique, especially factual critique. Please point out everything you know I've gotten wrong, from typos, to simple facts like the age of official Girls und Panzer characters and so on. I don't have an editor, so one or two typos always escape me, please point them out if you find them. To keep my schedule, I have to rush things a little, so this version of the story isn't exactly the final one. When I'm done with it, I'll go through it again to fix the various issues, and maybe get an editor to take care of any errors I've made. Regardless, until then, any critique is appreciated. Cheers!_

* * *

Deep inside the Tea Garden on Eton, in one of the rooms that had no windows, under the light of nothing but some dim candles, a secret meeting took place. The orange flames barely pierced through the darkness to reach the pale wallpaper. Weak rays flickered on blonde hair, turning it several shades darker. The air was heavy. It smelled of smoke and molten wax.

"I have utmost confidence in him," a voice broke the silence.

"Do not underestimate the charms of that girl," another followed.

"According to Richard, he remains steadfast in front of her advances. He is unsure of her intent, however," a third voice echoed in the darkness.

Silence returned to accompany the candlelight, for a few moments, before a series of knocks interrupted it again. The door opened slowly, squeaking all the way. _"Senpai-tachi?" _Orange Pekoe poked her head in. Coming from outside, she could barely see. Instinctively, she flipped the light switch. White flooded the room. "What's going on?"

"We're holding a secret meeting," Darjeeling smiled with enthusiasm. She blew out the candles. As their life was extinguished, they let out one final puff of smoke, intensifying the dry smell already present in the room.

"Is this really necessary?" Earl Grey asked, practical as ever.

"Oh, you have no sense of adventure, Grey." Darjeeling scolded her senior then followed with a giggle. Earl Grey let out a short sigh. Her junior enjoyed complicating things just for the sake of making them interesting, a hobby they didn't share. No wonder she got along so well with Richard. The two both had peculiar interests. Luckily, conscious or not, Darjeeling never crossed the line into become annoying. For that, Earl Grey was grateful.

Assam simply sat nervously between the two girls without uttering a word. It had been Darjeeling's idea to set up the atmosphere. She couldn't deny it sounded interesting at first, but now it looked just silly. Pekoe stared confused at her seniors for a few seconds. "Can I join?" she asked.

"Take a seat." Darjeeling gestured at one of the empty chairs, past the ornate vase that lay on the round table. Light bounced off the pure white of the flowers in it – lilies, their smell covered by the heated wax and burnt wick, like how Assam's own interests got lost in the formality of the meeting.

"Don't worry, Assam. I'm certain he'll remain loyal," Darjeeling said. A smile returned to Assam's face, at the same time the faint smell of flowers started registering over that of the dead candles.

Earl Grey was more sceptical, though. "I suppose it's not like him… but keep your guard up," she said. "Something's fishy about that Jajka."

* * *

"I… I can't hold it anymore." Without another word, Jajka dashed towards Wellington and embraced him. The boy was stunned; he could barely utter a thing. He stared dumbfounded into a wall while the girl tightened her grip around him.

It was all too sudden, nothing like her playful antics. One moment they were walking to his office, the next she coiled around him like a snake. If this was joke, it had gone too far. But it didn't look like a joke – she'd been strangely quiet since that morning – it made no sense to be one.

After a few moments of stupefied silence, Wellington regained his composure and tried to accuse the girl of seduction once more. She'd promised she'd change, and yet she stood there trying to manipulate him once again, or whatever it was she was trying to do. Just how stupid did she think he was?

Jajka's embraced became even stronger. Even through her uniform, Wellington could feel her breasts pushing against his body. She was definitely better endowed than Assam, and damn her for making him think about it. "You–" The boy's words were interrupted. Jajka closed in for a kiss. Wellington's finger on her lips stopped her. "I have a girlfriend, you know," the boy said. Whatever fire he had in his heard was replaced by cold anger. He glared at her with more disappointment than anything else. She'd failed him, and for what?

"I… I… I'm sorry… you're right, but… my heart…" She loosened her grip of Wellington's body, but didn't let go completely. Wellington cringed at the thought of someone coming in his office while they were like that. If Assam were to come in at that moment, it would be disastrous. He put his hands on her waist to push her away, then froze… Richard was standing at the door. With his mouth wide open, halfway through getting the first bite from a sandwich, he looked like someone had paused a video in the middle of a scene. Wellington's mind stopped working. He didn't know what to do. He could feel Jajka's breathing one centimetre in front of him. The seconds felt like hours. He wanted to shout out that it wasn't what it looked like, but before he could, Richard put his finger to his lips. Then Wellington understood. He wanted Jajka to continue. He wanted to judge her intent. "My… heart has never pounded like so… You're the first… man who made me feel like this… I… I think I love you, Mr. Wellington."

Richard's jaw dropped. Wellington saw but wasn't sure how to interpret it. "Wha–" The words wouldn't leave his mouth. He hadn't been so confused since… God knew when. He looked at Jajka, then at Richard, then back at Jajka. Her blonde hair was flawless as always, but her face was red as a lobster and she was breathing heavily. If he hadn't known, he'd say she was being genuine. She was definitely a good actor.

"No," the girl said. She finally let go completely and took a step back. "You'll think I'm trying to seduce you…"

"Oh, you think?" Wellington muttered. Jajka turned around and saw Richard gaping from the door. Wellington didn't think her skin could get any redder. It did. She let out a muffled cry before running by Richard and out the door like a scared doe.

"By God, I'll have her expelled for this," Wellington mumbled to himself.

Richard was staring at him, his mouth covered with his free hand, the sandwich still untouched in the other. "She's… telling the truth," he said. "My God, she wasn't lying, not one bit… it was all bloody real…"

"What?" Filled with disbelief, Wellington rubbed his forehead. "Oh, for God sake…"

"I knew she fancied you a bit, but I had no idea…" Richard still gaped at his friend, shocked by the revelation.

"Now what?" Wellington asked.

Richard stare turned from shocked into concerned. There was no easy answer. "Well, presuming you don't want to dump Assam…"

"Preposterous. Of course I don't."

"Didn't think so," Richard muttered. "Go after Jajka. Let her down, but be gentle."

* * *

Be gentle… easier said than done. It wasn't hard to find Jajka, it was talking to her that was the problem. She'd stopped in one of the many parks that littered HMS Audacious. As luck had it, it was empty. She'd calmed down. The red of her skin turned to a faded pink. Her eyes said she was glad to see him follow. The boy sat on the bench next to her, without a single word.

"You know… I didn't lie when I said you turned me on…" Jajka said. Wellington didn't reply. "I can change," the girl added.

Wellington let out a pained sigh. "You know this is impossible. I love Assam." He couldn't look at her, but he knew his words were like a knife to her heart. He never imaged he'd ever be put in such a situation.

"I wish you were more of a jerk…" Jajka muttered.

"Like that guy I saved you from?" Wellington asked. "If I were you'd still be in that hellhole."

"I wish you'd saved me for selfish reasons," Jajka said.

Wellington chuckled. "I did. I needed capable commanders."

Silence interrupted their dialogue for a few more moments. The breeze brushed Wellington's brow, cooling down the hot blood that rushed through his skin. Jajka started chuckling, a nervous crackle bordering on crying. "I guess this is my punishment. After all I've done, it's only fitting that the man I love is stolen from me–"

"I'd have to belong to you in the first place to be stolen," Wellington retorted. He bit his tongue. Sarcasm wasn't exactly appropriate at the moment. He wasn't helping, yet somehow, Jajka seemed to cheer up.

"You're not making this easy." Jajka's voice had stopped quivering. Instead, she looked at him with indignation. He preferred it to sadness – at least she wouldn't break down crying. He stood up. The wind had died down. Heat was once more building in his face. He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his expression straight, and turned towards the girl. Reaching out to her head, he patted the large swirled bun she so meticulously crafted.

"I'm sorry, Eggs, but you reap what you sow. Karma's a bitch. Stay on the righteous path and things will get better," he said.

Jajka's lips curled into a faded smile, her eyes bleeding melancholy. "Can I at least keep teasing?"

Wellington sighed, longer and deeper than before. "Sure, just tone it down a bit. Frankly, I've gotten used to it. It'd be strange to stop completely."

"How can I ever thank you?" Jajka asked. Normally, Wellington would have taken it as a seductive quip. It wasn't the case this time. It lacked the tone to be one, despite the choice of words.

"Help me win the tournament. That's all I ask."

* * *

"Oh, the things I did to get a good Tankathlon team together… this is refreshing in comparison…"

"Call me overly-idealistic, but I hope you didn't stoop so low as to sell your body for it."

"Oh, love, I'm glad to live up to your high expectations for once. I actually keep myself for you."

"The Grandmaster on her knees, begging for tanks, must have been quite something…"

"Love, you're the only person I'd get on my knees for."

Wellington opened his eyes. His senses slowly came back to him. It was a dream, a recent memory, hopefully the last of the kind. After all, he'd turned Jajka down a day prior. He felt Assam's long hair tickle the skin on his arm, her breath brushing his neck. The room was dark. The sun must have set. They'd fallen asleep on the couch while devising tactics for the finals. It had been an improvised planning session, but those often lead to brilliant ideas. Assam looked up at him. "Awake?" she asked.

"Obviously," Wellington mumbled.

"You struggled a bit. Bad dream?"

"You could say that…" Wellington said. He gently pushed the girl off him and walked to the window. The night sky was decorated with a multitude of stars, many of which could only be seen far away from the pollution of cities. "I… need to tell you something…" Wellington mumbled. He turned his back to the starry canvas and peered through the darkness towards his girlfriend. "Jajka… confessed to me." A chuckle left his lips. He never imaged he'd ever have a girl confess to him. He always thought it was the gentleman's duty to court. "I turned her down, of course." Under only the light of the moon, Assam expression could not be judged. Wellington could only see her tip her head slightly.

"Thank you," she said.

"I…" Wellington hesitated. He took a deep breath for courage. "There's something else, Lily…"

The girl flinched at the mention of her real name. It was very rarely that he called her by it. "Of course, Wellington-sama."

"You… never had a boyfriend before, if I recall correctly," Wellington said. Confused, the girl nodded her head. "I see…" A few moments, the boy quietly stared into the distance, gathering his thoughts. For Assam, the heavy silence pressed painfully on her heart. "We'll need to end it eventually, you know… for your own good."

The girl stared at Wellington, unable to grasp the meaning of his words. Her gaze scanned him as many interpretations went through her mind, filling her with regret, confusion and horror, one at a time. What was he talking about? Was he trying to dump her? But didn't he just pass up a confession for her? "I don't understand," Assam muttered.

"It would be selfish to steal your happiness. If I join the army, I'll go to war. I'll be gone for a long time. I don't want to put you through that. I might die. I don't want to put you through what my mother went through," Wellington said. "We'll have to break up, eventually..." Assam was speechless. There was no reaction she could have that made sense. Happy to live in the fairytale that was her present life, she hadn't thought of the future at all, but this man in front of her, this young lad that she loved so dearly, had done what she was afraid to do. "Not today, probably not this year… unless you decide you want to yourself… but eventually… after we graduate…"

The pain in her heart grew stronger. Assam blamed herself for not planning ahead. She should have seen it coming. Caught off guard, the girl had no idea what to do, but she would not give up. She would improvise. Her gaze sharpened. She took a deep breath. "No," she said. "You've taken care of me so far. I won't give up. If you no longer love me, then I understand, but I will accept no other reason. If need be I will wait for you. I will endure. I accept the risks. One day you may returned in a flag covered coffin, but I am willing to embrace the possibility of that pain if I can be with you."

It was Wellington's turn to stare dumbfounded. He hadn't anticipated she would react like that. He wasn't sure what to expect in the first place, although he would have betted on sorrow followed by acceptance, or if not acceptance, a small fight against the idea, but he never thought he'd see such determination. Assam had grown into a strong young lady, one who knew what she wanted and was willing to fight for it. No longer was she the shy girl that never contradicted him. She'd come a long way.

* * *

_AN: Just found 3 typos in the last sec__tion __this morning a__nd fixed them, and that's just the last section. I really need an editor... please point out any typos in reviews if you are kind enough. Thanks._


	65. A short trip to London

_AN: Inspired by KonigstigerAce334's "We Remember"._

* * *

The soft buzz of aircraft engines tickled Assam's ears. She wasn't used to flying; the feeling was unnerving. Taking off, the sudden acceleration, it was ecstatic, but the low air pressure and humidity in the cabin once they reached cruising altitude made her uncomfortable, not to talk of the actual ascent. She coiled around Wellington's arm, focusing her mind on his presence. He was reading some document, free of any care, a perk of traveling often enough to get used to it. For Assam, it was her first flight.

In another seat nearby, Darjeeling was sipping on some champagne, bright as a summer morning. She'd been far more enthusiastic about the trip. She'd flown before, albeit not as much as Richard and Wellington, who lived abroad and had to travel periodically. Assam remembered her saying it was the fifth time, so she concluded that Darjeeling's resistance was natural rather than gained. Envious of the girl's ability to remain so cheerful, Assam couldn't wait for the landing. Hopefully, she'd get used to air travel after a few trips.

"First time, eh?" Richard asked. "Don't worry. It's not that bad, unless we crash." The mere thought sent chills down the girl's spine. Darjeeling threw her boyfriend a glare. She didn't approve of him intimidating her friend, as innocent as the intent was. Richard's only defence was a short nervous laughter, sign that he resigned to his girlfriend and admitted his guilt.

Wellington didn't appreciate the joke either. "We won't crash," he reassured Assam.

The plane shook a bit. They must have hit some minor turbulences. Instinctively, Assam closed her eyes and strengthened her grip. The boy pulled back, trying to free himself. Afraid she'd stopped his circulation, the girl reluctantly let go. Even if she was a bit disappointed, she didn't want to make him uncomfortable. Without taking his eyes off the paper he was skimming, Wellington put his now freed arm over Assam's shoulder and pulled her closer. The girl couldn't help but smile, for the first time that flight.

"Look, Richard," Darjeeling said. She pointed at the screen of her tablet. "Supposedly, the average Bugatti customer has about 84 cars, 3 jets and one yacht."

Richard gave the screen a short look and chuckled. "Well, my family does own a yacht," he said, "but we only have one jet. As for the cars, I didn't count, but I can tell you we have far fewer than that."

The rest of the flight was uneventful. Assam even fell asleep. She only woke up on descent.

The plane touched the ground with a soft thud. A great landing, not that Assam could judge. She was too busy clenching her teeth and keeping her eyes shut tight. Landings were nothing like take offs! One was adrenaline inducing, the other nerve wracking. When the aircraft finally stopped and the door opened, the girl couldn't be happier to finally step onto solid ground. The midday sun was shining brightly, the sky was clear. The weather of London was nothing like what she'd heard. Her boyfriend would always complain about how depressing it was, with constant rain and cold. She was happy to get such a good first impression.

"Thanks for the ride, mate," Wellington said to Richard. It was his family plane they'd taken. Even if the Greenbergs had recovered financially, a private jet was still beyond them so they normally travelled first class. It was an acceptable deal for Wellington, but if he got the chance, he would plan his trips to match Richard's. The Stanfield family had no issue with owning a bizjet.

It was the first time the girls visited London, so Richard offered to show them around. Wellington had other business to attend to, and planned to re-join the group after it was done, but Assam insisted she stay with Wellington. "Are you sure?" her boyfriend asked. "My business isn't very fun…" The girl nodded her head. Unless she bothered, she would have it no other way. A sudden realization made Wellington raise his eyebrows. "This might actually prove interesting. Yes, come with me," he finally agreed.

Having landed at the London City Airport, in the Royal Docks, they were pretty close to central London. Sébastien had flown in before them and was now waiting by the car. Assam guessed that was another Rolls Royce, as it didn't make sense to fly the one on Audacious all the way to England. They drove through the busy streets, unfamiliar sights catching Assam's attention through the tinted windows. Every time the girl saw an old building that looked even in the slightest interesting, she squeezed Wellington's hand in hers. The boy couldn't stop but smile.

They stopped right next to a flower shop. The second Wellington opened the door, Assam's nostrils were filled with the powerful scent of blooming plants. Inside, the place was filled with all sorts of vivid flowers of all colours. Roses, anemones, carnations, daffodils, daisies and many others studded the large room.

"Five lilies, please," Wellington ordered. The shopkeeper quickly grabbed the flowers and arranged them neatly in a pretty bouquet. Assam was so enticed by the multitude of colours and aromas that she didn't even notice when the boy turned around and hander her the flowers. The simple act made her cheeks warm. As thanks, she planted a quick kiss on Wellington's lips. Even though it was short and simple, it still hit her with a thrill that made her whole body tingle. She turned to leave, but her boyfriend had one more item to purchase. "And now for the sombre part… I'd also like six Gladioli, please."

The bright smile that decorated the shopkeeper's face faded away. She must have realized something. Assam wasn't sure what. A young man buying his girlfriend a bouquet of flowers was a happy scenario. Whatever the second bouquet was for must have been sad. She decided not to ask.

The rest of the trip was long enough that Assam got bored of looking out the window. The pretty flowers were enough to keep her mind busy though. Her attention only went back outside when the car made a turn and found itself driving along the edge of a cemetery. That was when it finally occurred to her – the purpose of the second bouquet.

The car stopped by the entrance. Once more Wellington and Assam went for a walk, longer this time, and more sombre. They walked along grave after grave, stretching out as far as Assam could see. After a minute or so, they reached their destination.

_Colonel Thomas George Greenberg,  
__10th Earl of Dorchester  
__1974-2016_

The grave was covered by all sorts of flowers – a multitude of colours that reminded Assam of the shop they'd entered earlier that day. "The men that served under him visit quite often," Wellington said. "He was well liked. I'll never surpass him in that regard." He placed the Gladioli on top of the countless other bouquets. A short sigh left his chest. _"In moriendo ad vitam aeternam nascimur. Requiescat in pace,_ dad." That was one of the few Latin phrases Wellington knew. Unlike August, who could speak fluent Latin – a rare feat – and Richard, who spoke some himself, Wellington's grasp of the language was limited, but he always used those two sentences when he visited his father's grave. He turned towards Assam, a bitter smile on his face. "This is the risk you assume," he mumbled.

"It's worth it," the girl said. "You're worth it."


	66. The Earl, the Duke and the Princess

_AN: This first part probably should have been part of the previous chapter._

* * *

At his father's grave, Wellington lit a candle. It was time to leave. He'd visit again when he got the chance. A drop of water fell on the boy's skin just as he stood up. A cold drizzle started. The droplets bombarding the grey marble that entombed the Colonel resembled the static on an old tube television. Assam would finally get a taste of that traditional English weather. Focused on the present, they hadn't even noticed when the sky darkened. Luckily, Wellington came prepared. The two shared an umbrella until they reached the car. It looked like the rest of their plans for the day had to be cancelled.

One day in London, wasted. The next they had to return. With finals imminent, there was only so much free time to enjoy. Both the Stanfields and the Greenbergs had residences in London. Both families were absent that day. A part of Wellington was dejected by the fact that he couldn't see his mother, another sighed in relief that he didn't have to introduce his girlfriend. Even after dating her for a while, he was still anxious about meeting her parents or introducing her to his.

He kept working well into the night, until Assam finally convinced him to come to bed, a few minutes before midnight. It was a good choice. The next day he actually woke up well rested. The trip back home proved to be far less tiring for Assam. She'd gotten used to flight even faster than Darjeeling. For once, she could enjoy the view, the white clouds, and the endless azure of the sky. Everything was of poetic beauty.

* * *

Jajka walked the halls of the Sensha-dou club building on Audacious at a brisk pace. Since she'd gotten a uniform to fit her, mobility was no longer an issue. The hallways were surprisingly dark. She still hadn't gotten used to the low lighting environment between the rooms. It reminded her too much of the bowels of Bonple, even if the smell was absent.

"Wellington-kun," Jajka called as she entered the room. The boy was sitting at his desk, reading some documents, as usual. Assam too was with him, sitting on top the table, her short skirt hanging on the edge. They both looked up. "The postman told me to give you these strange letters."

"We have a postman?" Assam asked.

"Give them here," Wellington said and stretched out his hand.

As she walked to the desk, Jajka read the envelopes. "To His Grace The Duke of Lowestoft? The Right Honourable The Earl of Dorchester? Oh, and this one's for Richard."

Assam snatched the letters from Jajka's hand before she could hang them over to Wellington. "They're pretty," she said. After a quick look, she handed one of them to her boyfriend. "There you go, Earl."

Jajka stared confused at the two. "Earl?" she asked.

"That would be me," Wellington said. "The Duke is Monty. Poor Richard is only a Mister – lucky bastard if you ask me."

Jajka's eyes grew even wider, and she tried to stop her jaw from dropping. "But Monty's a freshman… how did he become a duke?"

"It's a long story," Wellington mumbled.

"Pray tell," Jajka insisted. The boy took a glance at Assam. She too seemed interested. Next he looked at the clock, as if to judge if he had enough time to share. A short sigh left his chest. "Fine, I suppose. Monty's uncle, Elmer, was to inherit the peerage, but he didn't want the responsibility," Wellington said. "Can't blame him… Anyway, it caused quite the ruckus back in the day, I heard, although I can't say for sure, since I wasn't born at the time."

Jajka leaned on the table, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, pleading for more. "Did his father disinherit him?"

"It's not possible to do that with a peerage," Wellington explained. "But you miss the point. The Duke would have preferred if Elmer inherited the title. It was Elmer who didn't want to, and while it's not possible to disinherit your children, it is possible to disclaim a hereditary peerage."

Jajka stood up. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "I don't get it."

Wellington rubbed his forehead. "He wanted to run away."

"What stopped him?" Jajka asked.

After a deep breath, Wellington started speaking faster, hoping to finish sooner. "From what I understand, Elmer agreed to postpone the final decision. He had until 12 months after succeeding to the peerage to deliver an instrument of disclaimer to the Lord Chancellor. That meant 12 months after the former Duke died. Old Archibald must have hoped his son would change his mind, but I don't think Elmer ever considered it. It was probably an excuse to stop his father's pestering. Until his father died, Elmer refused any and all courtesy titles and went traveling, under his own expense even. He returned home quite often, though, and was at the funeral. Within a week, he had disclaimed the title. That day, Monty became duke." Another deep breath followed the ending of the rapid explanation. "Happy?" Wellington asked the two girls. Assam nodded her head.

Jajka rubbed her chin, her gaze focused on nothing in particular. "Amazing…" she mumbled.

"Hah, Monty actually considered disclaiming it himself, the lazy bum! And of course, he postponed the decision until the last day, which in his case is 12 months of becoming 21," Wellington said. "To be fair, his father was at sea quite a lot, so Richard made his appearance first, even if his mother was the youngest. With that head start, the Stanfields kind of accepted young Richard as the heir and stopped pestering his aunt for a child, which, I think is why the lass finally made one, since it could finally be a product of love, rather than high expectations."

"Fascinating," Jajka mumbled.

"Well, Richard is far more social, so I suppose he'd make a better peer, but it would be really pathetic if Monty disclaimed his title just out of laziness. At least Elmer had a dream to follow, visiting the world and all that."

Jajka kept rubbing her pale chin, pondered on everything she just found out, trying to make sense of it. The more she thought of it, the bigger her smile grew, until she cracked up into a boisterous laugh. "The _Right_ Honourable!" She held her stomach with both arms. Wellington wasn't amused, and Assam herself threw Jajka a frown. "Oh, I'm sorry, your highness, The Right Honourable _The_."

"Actually, the correct way to address me would be 'Your Lordship', 'My Lord' or 'Lord Dorchester'," Wellington said. Jajka kept laughing. "This is why I don't normally flaunt my titles. I'm not much into formalities."

"I think I'll add these to the ways I address you, thank you," Jajka said while wiping her tears. The occasional chuckle still left her chest as she spoke. "Great, now I need to reapply my makeup."

"You got what you deserved," Wellington said.

"Yes, my lord!" Jajka took a bow and left. Wellington-kun, master, _goshujin-sama _and_ anata _were ways the girl had previously called him, one more inappropriate than the other, and now more terms were added to the roster. Wellington let out a long and pained sigh. What a troublesome squadron commander he'd gotten himself. After a few seconds of silence, Jajka's head popped back inside the room. "You didn't tell me what the letters are for."

Wellington had already opened his, while the other three lay on his desk, awaiting their intended recipients. "Invitations to Lady Louise Windsor's coming of age party. That doesn't explain why Monty has two, though," Wellington said. The frown on his face deepened for a moment, before being washed away by an expression of realization. "Unless… he's been invited to the private soiree. By God, he wasn't kidding when he said she invited him personally. You sly fox… I can't wait to tell Richard about this."

* * *

"You weren't supposed to see this," Monty said. Not exactly a yell, but it was the loudest he'd been in months. He happened to be around Richard when Wellington called and rushed to his office as soon as possible. The second he saw his two letters in the commander's hand, he ran to the desk and snatched them, quite the physical exertion for Monty.

"Bloody good job, mate!" Richard said. "I'm proud of you." The smile on Richard's face went from one ear to the other. He fought back the laughter building up in his chest, knowing it would only serve to further fluster his cousin further. Wellington was calm in comparison. The news had caught him off guard, but its effect had ran its course before the two boys arrived.

"Shut up," Monty mumbled. He hid his flushed face behind his hands, then sunk into the comfy armchair Wellington kept for him and no one else. "Who let you go through my correspondence?"

"Maurice, this is great new!" Richard cried. "You should be proud, not ashamed."

"Yes, I've heard she's grown to be quite the beauty," Wellington muttered, waving his hand about. "Haven't seen her in a while, though. Is that true?"

"You don't watch TV, do you?" Richard asked. "Puberty struck again."

"Y-yes," Monty mumbled. "Still, it's not all good news."

"What do you mean?" Richard asked.

Monty lowered his hands, revealing the blushing face behind them. "Louise Windsor is coming to watch the finals!"

* * *

"Did you hear, Assam?" Wellington asked. He leaned down the chair and kissed the girl on the forehead. She smiled back. "Her Royal Highness Princess Louise of Wessex is coming to Japan to watch our match against Roosevelt. Now we definitely have to win." Despite no words coming from the girl, Wellington could read the surprise on her face. "At least that should motivate the boys."

Somebody knocked on the door. Ryuu popped his head through it. "Commander, may I?"

"Come in," Wellington gestured. "How goes the beta testing?"

A happy grin appeared on Ryuu's face. "Monty ironed out the final kinks. Between me and Ooarai's Anteater Team, testing went quite fast."

"You actually got them to help?" Wellington asked.

Ryuu kept chuckling, clearly proud of himself. He took a seat proceeded to boast. "It was super easy. Who doesn't want to get early access on a private mod for War Thunder? They were terrible at it, though."

"Sorry?" The smile on Ryuu's face vanished, and Wellington deduced an angry rant was to follow. It was too late to stop, so he could only brace.

"They only play World of Tanks, and while it's a great _game_, it's a terrible learning tool," Ryuu started. "I hear they kept missing until they finally realized that in game the distance is automatically taken into account. They always shot short in real matches!" Wellington raised an eyebrow. How the bloody hell did a team with such members win the National Tournament? Although his crews were pretty pathetic at first too, so he shouldn't have complained. After a short pause, Ryuu continued his rant. "War Thunder isn't that great either. I learned the hard way that games aren't the best ways to train. Nothing beats real life. Still, at least War Thunder doesn't lead to such silly mistakes. Even in Arcade Mode one can deduce that you have to adjust your sight for distance. Realistic Mode is even better. And with our mod finally out, we can finally get the most realistic tank simulation experience ever!" Ryuu cried and started laughing like an evil maniac.

Wellington looked at him with disinterest. "Whatever. It's a bit too late to be useful now." He walked to the window and gazed at the freshly mown grass in the club building's garden. "I get the feeling that this time, all the eyes in Britain will be watching us."


	67. An evening of planning

At the edge of the sky, the sun was slowly crawling towards the horizon, like a sneaky thief tiptoeing away from trouble. It was evening, and the officers of Eton gathered around the planning table. Wellington was sipping on some tea, sitting comfortably in his chair, already scheming in his mind. Right next to him, leaning on the backrest, Assam scanned the room to figure out who was missing. They had to start soon, and Heinz hadn't arrived. Wellington had convinced him to pay a visit and lent a hand with the planning, but he was running late.

Just like always, Monty was sunk in an armchair, dozing off. Darjeeling waited patiently, her face decorated by the same warm smile she always wore. Steam rose from her cup only to vanish a few inches above it, devoured by the darkness. Monty had insisted they keep the lights off until the meeting officially started. A few candles were the only thing that kept the blackness at bay. In the corner of the room, isolated from everyone, Jajka stood in the shadows, as if she were a doe hiding from a wolf pack on the prowl. She would have preferred standing next to her commander, but she didn't dare. Whenever she approached him with Darjeeling around, she got bad vibes, to the point where she made a mental note to avoid it. On the other side, despite having more reasons to feel threatened, Assam tolerated her presence.

A few knocks on the door and Sharpe came in with Heinz, a few minutes late. He had escorted the former Eton student from the helipad. "We had a few complications on take-off," he explained.

_"Guten Abend,_ ladies and gentlemen," Heinz lifted his Field Marshal cap as a salute. "It's been too long."

"Welcome, Heinz. It's good to see you," Wellington gave a nod. After the formalities, the meeting started, and Wellington moved straight to the point. "Sharpe, you said you had a theory about why the 17 pounder is not so accurate."

"I have a few, actually. I don't see why it matters, though. It's not like we can change anything."

"Satisfy my curiosity," Wellington said. "As you all might remember," the boy addressed the small crowd, "our Fireflies have some issues because of their guns." The words were mostly directed at Heinz, who changed schools before the issue with guns was discovered. "Beside the dust lifted at the moment of firing, which limits visibility, the cramped space inside the turret and the painful recoil, we also discovered an issue with the accuracy." After he finished his last sentence, Wellington passed the word to Sharpe with a quick glance. The gunner let out a short sigh as he walked to the middle of the room.

"Does it have to do with the sabots discarding incorrectly on the APDS?" Heinz asked. "I remember reading about that."

Sharpe coughed once to bring everyone's attention to him. "No. We're mixing a batch of fixed British ammo with Canadian produced ammo. APDS is fine. The problem is not with the ammo. It's with the gun itself." The boy crossed his arms, took a deep breath and continued. "The 17 pounder's accuracy is worse than the 77mm HV's."

"And you said you have a theory about why it is so," Wellington said.

"Maybe it was the six extra months of development on the gun, maybe it was the lower recoil, maybe the barrel was too short, and the flash destabilized the shell, maybe the shorter barrel had more beneficial barrel harmonics…" Sharpe said.

"Barrel what?" Jajka asked.

"Firing causes shock to the barrel and introduces vibrations that can reduce accuracy," Sharpe explained. "The shorter and thicker 77mm HV is less affected by this. Anyway, maybe it was one of the above, maybe a combination, maybe all."

"That's a lot of maybes," Heinz said.

"I said it was only a theory. I also said I don't think it helps."

"It helped satisfy my curiosity. Thank you, Sharpe." Wellington nodded his head in thanks. "Well, let's get to planning then. You're free to stay, Sharpe."

"Sure, I have nothing better to do," the boy shrugged.

"Before we proceed, I have a question," Darjeeling said. "Did Roosevelt try to use any subterfuge against us or not?"

"There has been one sabotage attempt and three hacking attempts, all of which have failed miserably. Top of course denies responsibility, saying that any attack was not done under his orders," Wellington explained.

"If Richard believes it, I do as well," Darjeeling nodded.

"Well, there you have it. Both Top and Command are too confident of their victory to try and sabotage us," Wellington said. "Neither of us has any unfair advantage… well, except Roosevelt's monster tanks. Of course, we don't need any unfair advances. Our crews are finally capable, and our tanks are good. It will just come down to tactics. Let us hope that the difference between Command and me is bigger than the difference between our tanks and theirs. There probably won't be much time to install traps either.

"There is one upside though. I theorize that Command will not go all out from the beginning. He will keep in reserve. Try and see with how many tanks he can beat me. But he won't throw victory away. If he feels that he cannot beat me fair and square on an even field, he'll throw in his reserves. We'll have to make sure he's either overconfident by downplaying our situation, or strike in one hit and take as much as possible before he wakes up.

"Meanwhile, I suppose I should formally introduce our new light squadron commander, Jajka." The girl took a step forward and did a small bow. She expected Darjeeling to frown at her after Wellington's introduction, but to her surprise, she didn't. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've gotten ourselves a Polish 1st Armoured Division!"

Darjeeling chuckled. "Technically, it would have to be made up entirely of Poles, not just lead by one." Jajka scanned the blonde, expecting a barb. Strangely, none followed. The girl's tone was neutral.

"True," Wellington gave a slight nodded. "Either way, she has the experience we need leading a light squadron. We'll have ourselves some Winged Hussars."

Heinz looked confused at Jajka. "Isn't this the girl that–"

"She is," Wellington interrupted. "You'll find that I've grown fond of her since the heel-face turn she's gone through. I have high hopes of her." The boy's praise made Jajka's heart skip a few beats. She struggled to hide the change her cheeks went through. Wellington expected his declaration would not be taken well, yet nobody uttered a thing, not even Darjeeling. Only Assam leaned slightly towards him, as if to show she was still on top of things. Wellington read on it and put his hand over her shoulder. "With my dear Assam's rapid growth as a strategist, Darjeeling's expertise, Jajka's light tank experience, Heinz's Guderian level prowess–"

"Thank God it's not a Rommel level. We would have ran out of fuel half-way through." Monty's barely coherent mutter made Wellington paused for a second.

"…and the wisdom in Monty's every incoherent mumble–"

"I heard that!" Monty mumbled.

"We will win!" Wellington declared.

* * *

After a few hours of talks, Wellington called for a short pause. Heinz joined Sharpe on the balcony, hoping to ease the stress with a smoke. The sun had set and the sky was lit with countless stars. Heinz took a cigarette from the pack and struggled to hide from the wind so he could light it. As soon as the thing was lit, he drew in the smoke and savoured it for a few moments. The mist he puffed out was barely visible in the darkness. Real or placebo, the boy felt his muscles relax from the nicotine. "Want one?" he asked Sharpe.

"No. I'm trying to kick the habit," Sharpe mumbled. "Katanako's been bugging me about it."

"I did hear you're no long pursuing _Fräulein _Hana. Still, you shouldn't let your girl dictate your life."

"Heh, Heinz, mate, let just say Erwin is not as headstrong." Sharpe fanned the air with his hand, trying to get the smoke out of his face. "Besides, I was planning to drop it for a while. I didn't necessarily do it because _The Shogun_ asked me."

"Wait, you're dating The Shogun?!" Heinz cried. His jaw dropped and the still burning cigarette fell from his mouth.

Sharpe's expression remained unchanged. He'd gotten used to people not believing it. "Didn't know you smoked," he said in an attempt to change the subject.

"_Ja,_ I try to keep do it with moderation," Heinz said. He stepped on the barely started cigarette that fell to the ground, then took out and lit another one. "On average one a day, sometimes two, sometimes none, and only the quality stuff. Keeps me from smelling a looking like _Scheisse._" He put his hand on the stone parapet that walled the balcony. The colt bit him to the bone. "It really good during an intensive battle, a long strategy meeting, or after… you know…" The boy chuckled and threw Sharpe a look, smirking. The look wasn't returned. His dialogue partner kept staring at the sky.

"Moderation means not smoking… at least according to Richard. I used to smoke one or two a week, and only when nobody was around," Sharpe said.

"_Ja_, _Herr_ Richard always called his body a temple. Never let anyone smoke around him." Heinz took another deep breath from before puffing out the smoke a few moments later.

"Neither did Wellington. It's common courtesy, really, not smoking around non-smokers."

"I guess…" Heinz wondered whether Sharpe was subtly hinting that he wanted him to stop. Either way, he didn't want to take the hint just yet.

"They both kept bugging me to quit, but I guess it took a woman to convince me." Sharpe chuckled. Miss Samura was a harsh mistress – just what he needed.

"Hah, they never bothered me with it."

A grin appeared on Sharpe's face, not that it was visible through under only the light of the moon. "Of course, it's a matter of respect and friendship, especially to Wellington."

Heinz adjusted his position and threw Sharpe another glance. "You were in the same crew, I thought you were close."

"I wasn't talking about me." In his peripheral vision, Sharpe saw Heinz tip his head in confusion. "Richard is harder to read. He's nice with everyone. Wellington, on the other hand, he only gives a damn if he cares about you. Figure out yourself why he never told you to quit."

"_Mein Gott, Herr _Sharpe, that's harsh." Heinz chuckled, but he couldn't completely hide his nervousness. He extinguished the half-smoked second cigarette and threw it in the bin.

"Of course, it might be that he just didn't know…" Sharpe mumbled.

"By God, I never thought I'd live to see the day someone talked behind my back." Wellington stepped into the balcony. The cold breeze made the hair on his back stand up. The same breeze tugged at his dark brown hair, making it dance under the starlight. "I only bugged you all the time because we had to sit in tight quarters for long periods of time. That and I knew you from before you started smoking, while Heinz was already a smoker when I met him. It is an important aspect you've failed to mention. I'm far more likely to hate your habit if you've picked it up recently."

Heinz smiled. He didn't want to admit it, but he cared about what Wellington thought of him. "I knew there was a rational explanation," he said.

"So, Heinz, how's the romance going in the History Club?" Wellington asked.

The grin on Heinz's face hadn't faded one bit. He patted his former commander on the shoulder. "Since when are you interested in that kind of stuff?"

"Since Richard's been bugging me about it," Wellington said. He rubbed away the stress-induced pain in his brow.

"Bad, I'm afraid." Heinz's tone suddenly turned serious. "Not between me and Riko, of course. I just think we've been pushing Caesar and August too much. They're great friends, spend a lot of time together, but I get the feeling that if they try becoming more it will ruin everything."

"Then don't push them," Wellington said. "I don't think you've got a compulsion to get people together like Richard, so it shouldn't be hard."

"_Nein,_ I don't. I haven't actively pushed them, still… It has to be hard being around Riko and me without… Everyone expects the rest of the History Club to just fall in love with each other," Heinz explained.

"Some sort of strange peer pressure?" Sharpe asked. "Well, they are very much alike."

"Being alike doesn't always equate to being good for each other," Wellington said. "Richard and Darjeeling are the exception. What about the rest?"

"Nothing interesting is happening between Tadatsune and Saemonza. What concerns me more is Ryouma and Oryou. They didn't seem that close at first either, but everyone teased them so much about their nicknames that they actually started behaving like a married couple after a while…"

Wellington raised an eyebrow. "Anything serious?"

"That's the problem. They're like that in public, but they barely talk in private. I think they're doing it just to shut us up." Heinz let out a short sigh. He was the leader of the group. The girls at Ooarai even called his group 'Heinz and Co'. He felt responsible for their wellbeing.

"Yeah, it's private interaction that matters. If they just pretend in public and then are too fed up to interact in private, it's all for naught," Wellington said. For a moment, he thought he sounded like Richard.

* * *

Jajka was confused by how little Darjeeling had antagonized her that day. She kept glancing at the girl, expecting to see her glancing back with a subtly threatening look on her face. No such thing happened, though. After a while, she let her guard down, only be startled when Darjeeling's voice rang in her ears.

"I heard you finally backed down," Darjeeling said. Jajka gave her an inquisitive look with a bit of fear hidden in it. They had barely interacted since she joined Eton. When they did, even if Wellington was not around, the girl came off as a bit cold, especially compared to how she normally talked to people. It was subtle, but Jajka knew what it meant. Darjeeling was hardly the first girl who didn't like her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jajka said.

"Of course, you don't." Darjeeling smiled – the same old smile she always wore. Jajka saw through the mask, though. It sent chills down her spine. "You came dangerously close to hurting one of my girls. Please be more careful in the future." From the outside, Darjeeling looked carefree, almost goofy at times, elegant, wise even, even if not as shrewd at Earl Grey. Jajka considered that the bad vibes she got from the former Gloriana captain were just her imagination, that she was just a naïve, good-looking child who had power coincidently dropped in her arms. The rumours about her having great influence over Eton's captain seemed implausible, especially since Jajka met the boy, and he was no easy mark. Those doubts of hers met their end the very moment Darjeeling shot her a glare. That was no woman to be trifled with. The heir of Earl Grey was worthy of the title. No wonder Saint Gloriana reached so far in tournaments, despite their average tanks.

Without a word, Jajka took her leave. She didn't dare go straight to Wellington, so she took a detour before approaching him. "I didn't know Darjeeling could be this intimidating," she mumbled.

"Beg your pardon?" Wellington asked. "Oh, yes, she's definitely not as silly as she seems at times." He shrugged at first, before seeing the fear in Jajka's eyes. It reminded him of how she looked at the boy that struck her. Wellington didn't want to see her or anyone else like that ever again. It went against his ideals. "She's not that bad, though. She must have put a lot of effort to scare you like that. Don't worry, she won't eat you, just avoid stepping on her toes." Jajka didn't say a word, but her heart melted. She could only give a smile as thanks.

"Thank you," Jajka struggled to say.

"Help me win and we'll be even," Wellington said without looking at her.

Jajka's eyes took a faintly sad cast. A bitter smile grew on her face. "We'll never be even."


	68. UPDATE 1

Never did an update before, but I don't know of any other way to let you guys know about the forum. I've created a LGuP Forum. If you guys are interested in my story, take a look at the forum. I've got a thread there in which I hope to get to know my readers better. You can find it in my profile description. I've also updated the link to the tournament so far pic, because it seems that it didn't work.

Also, NEWS: The next chapter will be coming this Friday, after which new chapters might slow down, since we're getting close to the ending and I want it to be as good as possible, so keeping a schedule will take less priority.


	69. Dawn in the Land of the Rising Sun

_AN: Okay, we're closing in on the grand finale. Not sure how long it will take, but I think I won't be able to follow my usual schedule while I write it. Maybe I'll manage to post one part a week (I doubt), maybe I'll finish them in the middle of the week and post the part on Wednesday, or maybe I'll just hoard it until it's all done and post it all at once. Expect some flashbacks during the battle, to the planning night (since I didn't want to spoil everything in the previous chapter) and others, generally in the close past. Stay tuned and thanks for the reading so far._

_P.S. There's an UPDATE chapter before this, so for you people who've only come here on Friday for this chapter, give that one a read._

* * *

The Eton crews assembled at dawn, their tanks lined up in front of the hangars. They were a glorious sight, even to Wellington's bloodshot eyes, after a night half slept. Assam had only managed to drag him to bed two hours past midnight, after heavy insistence. He wanted everything to be perfect for the day he'd face his nemesis, but he had to agree that rest was as vital to victory as last checks to the plan. Whatever fatigue clouded his mind dissipated when he arrived at the hangars, the following morning. His heart was filled with joy by the image of proper lads and lasses laid in front of him. The ladies were as brilliant as on the first day they arrived, and the boys… What fine fellows they'd made out of them. Dawn's light shone on the scarlet wool, a radiant red that spoke of victory. The girls donned their old Gloriana coats, so similar to Eton's as to render the two indistinguishable to the untrained eye. Such was the coincidence that the newly co-ed school had no need to design new female variants for their uniforms.

With Richard by his side with a reassuring smile on his face, the glorious strategist walked the length of the thin, red line. The gold and silver buttons on the coats reflected rays of sun to his eyes, a dazing symphony of light. Every single black collar was perfectly arranged. They all looked like they were going on parade.

At the end of the line, beyond the ladies and gentlemen that would fight by his side, Wellington saw it. A34 Comet I, Cruiser tank, number 01, the vehicle he rode in battle against Peter and Gordost. Its armour glimmered under the sun like the breastplate of an English knight, despite its dark tint. The best British tank of World War 2 – it invited him inside, to lead Eton once more to victory, but it wasn't his to ride that day. To the right stood his mount for the day, the slightly older A30 Challenger. Its long gun made it stand out from the rest of its brethren. Only the slow Tortoise had a bigger cannon.

Richard walked to the old tank and patted it on the armour like he would have his horse. "Ah, finally back into the Challenger. I missed getting to my seat without pulling a muscle."

"Beg your pardon?" Wellington asked.

"In case you haven't noticed, the driver's hatch for the Comet is pretty small and position to my right. It's a pain to get in," Richard explained. "OK, I don't actually pull muscles, but it's not exactly comfortable either."

Wellington gave his friend a long look. "I had no idea," he mumbled.

"I'm almost as agile as Beka, so you'll hear little complaints from me, but the other drivers were quite vocal," Richard said.

Wellington stifled a sigh. "How come I never heard of this?"

"Well, they came to me… and there wasn't much I could do."

At Wellington's gesture, everyone took their seats inside their tanks. "Not you, Richard," Wellington said. "You'll drive the Cromwell at first. I have a special plan for your driving skills."


	70. UPDATE 2

Busy week at work but I am already working on the finals. Sadly, nobody went to the forums. It's disheartening, but if you guys don't want to, I can't force you. Meanwhile, here are the things Wellington got his hands on when Eton hacked Top's computer.

* * *

**Encrypted emails:**

EnCt2593c3233413c297b5633523c6222deb4d652758d593c3233413c297b5633523c1Hmw/0f8mAI  
0rgzBblZz8GBYe7H3OfERnD9th8pGYUccXB3yitsP/rCnZQX0aksdqruSmCBPZlAsuY1JDzp6BiulFTd  
OnXJxBhMcPr3HpkTFDLfhokxZovitnznFPxNul62DyITPRqzq/JFHe1fecIwVU/gSnc9oDQblD0GORJn  
fwBOqZdRcC87HBBqksEOMO1qf7xa8SuSqxQkvs2xv4BZh4WPRDD1FiPRCzyqpo/UdQHNxbm6BbJ/OGdA  
Vmt/u48rlKrkdDpM5uSSC1VXyI0t6/BthY/moCo8Rx1h8lRJ8nnQfQ88DiXPuwOweRBnIKUaq5MJ53AP  
YShGB1NSUO7P8tYkPLDZTP1/APIFSHnFyrk8YDqDTKDJ2WqaGY80GLIY5NsRgpGWbvxUijpY3Vw5nH9  
lKfSe4UKgdYPnA1FLZahNsNv3NgNmiBmwtuF41/TKO1Y+1mKfDP4KumUVeZARi+wopYAaSUq0NE6YPh1  
8pU4qHIrwOu+71cpie+ZssMRfzJoj4RH0utiLK41yqKUGQ/zhjgoJDmSowe19dyH8T4ForEu+Kb/JhzX  
9MzcDfGvNQpqEDiNRrmmP1XN6PHe1qJdoGHNPkq27ukHxFqPZEnuUtl6TvWnsPKbgvhXf9Qx4eP8Pvx8  
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o1ZGtFmLLxviPhVItOXIeM64YYugg+cYxVm1cdheKjXxN6bduLyHkjJoEvLc2ahxttyO5p2LhpfQH+1t  
+tqHq96sw7bnZRKfaFTnMcshqQxGon8C6jfMd4h1Eca5TWqR0leu83TNFLSz6d56LGA0wiw==IwEmS

**Unencrypted email:**

_From: Top  
__To: Haxxor093  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

wtf have you done, you loon. you were supposed to sabotage their tanks not blow up the whole ship. youve doomed us both. theyll accuse us of terrorism


	71. UPDATE 3

_Here's another update. Still working on the final battle. Planned to post a pre-battle chapter, but I couldn't finish it because of work. Meanwhile, here's a delete scene as an aperitif. It is technically canon, but nothing will come of it. Wladek will eventually move on. I'm curious who you guys shipped her with. Post in the forums if you did ship her with someone._

* * *

"I… I… I think I like someone," Wladek said. Struggling with the words like a maiden in love, she gazed into the distance.

A big smile grew on Beka's face. "A boy?" she asked, hoping the answer would be positive. Given her friend's background, it wouldn't have been unexpected if she fell for a girl instead, and it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing either, but it would cause complications.

"Yes…" Wladek said, unsure why Beka was asking such a silly question. "From… Eton…"

A chill went down Beka's spine. She had a terrible feeling. "Please tell me it's Wellington," she said, although that wouldn't have been a good thing either.

"No, he's scary… most of the boys there are scary," Wladek said. For a few moments, she shrivelled in fear, before happy thoughts of whoever the boy was helped her overcome the anxiety. "I like… Ri…" Shit. "Richard," the girl said.

Beka let out a long and pained sigh. "Great… another one bites the dust."


	72. The crowd gathers

When the students of Eton arrived at the field of battle, they were greeted by a wave of cheers. The tribunes were bustling with life. Wellington looked over the large number of people that gathered to watch the match live. Although live was an overstatement, because for most of it they'd stare at a large screen. He felt it wasn't so different from sitting in your living room watching the live feed on your own television. Apparently, many disagreed.

The VIP area was separate from that of the other spectators. Positioned closer to the margins of the battlefield, it was within shouting range of the staging area the teams found themselves in before the match. At a glance, Wellington could see that it was almost empty. VIPs didn't have to come early to avoid the bustle. The boy recognized two members of the Nishizumi family in the top right corner of the tribunes. Maho and her mother, Shiho, or Manstein and Hitler, as he liked call them, had come to see the match. The scowl on the older Nishizumi's face showed she didn't exactly enjoy it. Still, being part of the Sensha-dou Federation, she probably had little choice. These were the finals, after all, even if no girl schools remained standing for them.

The boy schools were superior… or so Wellington wanted to say. He couldn't, though. It was pure luck and subterfuge that got Eton into the final battle. Regardless, it was their hard won accomplishment – they deserved to be there, even if many disagreed. Sensha-dou might not have been as unruly as Tankathlon, but it wasn't as straightforward as a 18th century ship-of-the-line battles either, no matter how much Kuromorimine insisted that direct assaults were the only honourable way to win. Like Nazi Germany, they had overinvested in tactics bound to fail and paid the price. If anything, that proved the Nishizumi Style was wrong, or at the very least that its time was over. Kuromorimine's long streak of tournament victories had been broken the previous year, and after their defeat before the semi-finals at the hand of Eton, it was obvious that they would never recover. Wellington chuckled at the thought. He so adored having proved Hitler wrong. He despised the woman, and by defeating her beloved daughter in battle, he had sent a message far better than he could have with mere words. Still, he couldn't shake a feeling of regret. Maho didn't seem bad as much as misunderstood. There was a sorrow hidden beneath her stoic mask. There was more to her than met the eye.

"Maurice!" A young girl with azure blue eyes waved from the lower seats of the VIP tribune. Her dark blond hair was loose to her shoulders in all its curly glory, similar to Assam's but shorter and less voluminous, and probably less difficult to deal with as well. The sunrise's light that passed through from behind painted it a radiant gold. She beamed at Monty, making him come running towards her like hypnotised.

"Louise... Err… I mean your highness…" Monty's voice shook slightly, emotions making him stutter. The girl's smile grew larger at the mention of her name, only to shortly change into a scowl at the formality of the following address. Monty read on it instantly and fixed his mistake before the frown could even form completely. "I mean, Louise!" It was still early in the morning for him, even if it was technically almost noon, yet rather mumbling his way through a conversation like he usually did, Monty was instead completely focused as if having just drunk a bottle of coffee.

"It's good to see you," the princess said. Their short moment together was interrupted by the appearance of Wellington and Richard, who couldn't miss the opportunity to meet the girl before the match. "Mr. Stanfield, Lord Dorchester, a pleasure as always."

Richard wore his usual bright smile, the on that made most girls go weak at the knees. Luckily, Louise Windsor wasn't one of those. "Your Royal Highness," he nodded. This time, the girl didn't mind being addressed like so.

Wellington couldn't help but chuckle at how close she'd gotten to Monty. "Milady," Wellington nodded as well. "Maurice told us you'd come." In his mind, he wondered who else would decide to drop by. The answer could have been easily answered by checking the list of reservations, had the thought occurred to him.

"I trust the match will be entertaining," Louise said.

"I don't know. I kind of ran out of tricks." Wellington chuckled. "Still, there will be enough explosions to keep things interesting. Why? Who else will be watching?"

"Grandmother might not say it out loud, but she's taken quite the interest in this struggle of yours," Louise said.

"Her Majesty?!" Richard's eyes grew wide and only by sheer willpower did he stop his jaw from dropping. Wellington wasn't surprised. He knew that interest had been shown in the spectacle he'd staged, especially after the Kuromorimine fight. Normally, he'd avoid such attention, as it made him uncomfortable, but in order to secure a future for his family, he'd endure.

"It's time the actors took the stage, I think," Wellington said.

Louise nodded. "Of course! I wish you the best of luck. Oh, and I almost forgot." The girl leaned over out of the tribune, grabbed Monty by the collar and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. "For good luck." The boy was left stunned as if an artillery shell had struck nearby. Richard grabbed his cousin and walked away before his silence could get awkward. Wellington chuckled, saluted and followed them back to the tanks. They had a battle to win.

* * *

"The audacity… two boys schools in the finals. They've destroyed all that Sensha-dou stands for." Shiho bit her lips in anger. A scowl haunted her face from the moment she set food in the tribunes, to the point where her brow ached from its presence. Yet she couldn't get rid of it. "I don't think I'll be able to stay until the end."

"Mother, we must." Maho's stoic visage was a sharp contrast to her mother's face. She always wore her mask better. No one could tell what was hidden under the façade she so easily kept up.

"This is all a disgrace," Shiho hissed. She still hadn't forgiven her daughter for failing at the hands of Eton. The only reason she hadn't punished her was because, in her eyes, the so-called glorious strategist had cheated.

"You must be Mrs Nishizumi, and Miss Maho." Louise approached the ladies that had secluded themselves in the topmost seats of the VIP tribunes. She'd heard of them, albeit not much. Shiho gave her a disinterested look, a frown still obvious on her face. Miho's expression didn't change either, although her eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. Hopefully, her mother wouldn't make a mess of things because of her anger. "I have heard much of you. You don't think this match will be interesting?"

Shiho snorted. She didn't recognize Louise, other than her appearance and accent that gave her away as British. "This match will be the last nail in this art's coffin," she said. "I hope you're happy. Your barbaric friends ruined a way of living."

Louise tried to keep her smile despite the woman's tone. Just like Wellington, she didn't like invoking her titles, but she felt tempted to do so at the moment. Ultimately, she decided otherwise. It would have been petulant of her to flaunt titles at a foreigner.

"You should watch your tone, Madam Nishizumi. You still represent the Federation." A man walked into the tribune, the buttons on his Khaki jacket glimmered in the sunlight. The black beret that covered his short hair identified him as a member of the Royal Tank Regiment. As he stepped closer, the badge on his beret too started glittering, until he was right in front of the women, close enough for the metallic letters under the World War I tank to be readable. _Fear Naught._ "Your Royal Highness," the man bowed his head.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Yardley," Louse beamed. "I heard you'd come."

"I no longer want to represent those fools," Shiho spoke up. "If they allow this charade to continue, I shall present my resignation. I thought my Miho had gone astray, but that little boy of yours is even worse."

A smirk cropped up Yardley's lips. He chuckled. "Rash, reckless and direct – madam, you wouldn't survive a week in a real war."

"I've had enough." Shiho stood up. "Come, Maho. We're leaving."

Maho looked confused. "We've just arrived. The match didn't even start."

"I don't care."

The girl didn't budge. She looked her mother in the eyes. "I'm staying."

Shiho snorted, her scowl deepening. "Fine," she hissed, and left.

* * *

Right next to his vehicle, Wellington saw Jack Drake – Command, as the boys of Roosevelt called him. He must have come to meet his adversary before the battle, the glorious strategist thought. They hadn't met since their chess game, years prior, not that there was any way Wellington could forget the tall and slim figure of his rival. Almost scrawny, he looked like he'd be swept away by a strong wind, yet he remained steadfast against the gust that made his black hair dance.

"It's almost poetic that the only reason the yanks stand a chance against us is because their commander is a Briton," Wellington said as he approached Command.

"I'm as much British as you are German, Mr. Greenberg," Drake boomed. His voice had yet to fully develop last Wellington had heard it, so he couldn't help but be surprised by the depth and resonance of its sound. It wasn't much deeper than his, yet it still felt strange, probably because of how masculine it seemed compared to the boy's figure. Wellington fought the surprise, though, and quickly regained his composure. "I see you've brought quite the audience. We only got Top's senator father to come. A princess, and… a colonel?"

"Yes, Lieutenant-Colonel A.C. Yardley – he took over command of the Royal Tank Regiment a year ago. He's taken some interest in me," Wellington mumbled. "So, Top is a senator's son? I guess we could call him a fortunate one, eh?" he quickly changed the subject and let out a short chuckle.

"Aren't you, Lord Dorchester?" Command retorted. Wellington chose to drop the subject. Despite his condescending tone, the boy was right.

"I hear they call him the King of Hearts. Card suit symbolism?" asked Wellington.

"Yes," Jack said. "The Hearts suit signifies emotion and finds the greatest fulfilment in a positive expression of love, compassion and understanding."

"Sounds just like our Richard. He and Top are alike," Wellington said. The truth was that he did not believe it – not after what he had learned about Roosevelt's captain. To compare Top to Richard would have been an insult to the latter. Wellington only said to cause a reaction and learn about his rival, as he thought his rival planned to do as well.

"Not really. Your captain is too naïve. Ours has a dark side to him…" Command said.

Pondering on how much information to divulge without giving his enemy an advantage, Wellington remained silence for a moment. "So does Richard, though I won't talk about it… my point stands."

Drake chuckled. "I might not know him, but I bet your friend fights against his. Top embraces it. No, you might call your friend the King of Hearts if you're generous, but I'd call Top the King of Diamonds – arrogant, can't stand being told what to do, obsessed with the accumulation of value…"

Wellington raised an eyebrow. He had his hunches, but he didn't expect Command to acknowledge it so quickly. "You don't seem to like your captain all that much," he said.

"Don't get me wrong, the entire Sensha-dou Club respects Top. Nobody's perfect. He may be an intimidating jerk at times, ignore my advice and be superficial, but he's the boss and keeps us all together. We wouldn't be where we are without him."

Wellington wondered whether Command had changed that much or whether Top was really such a good leader. A few years before, Drake would have admitted no equal. He scanned the boy, trying to see the meaning behind his words. He wished Richard were there to divine it himself. Then it occurred to him. It was all a lie. Drake didn't respect Top – he merely used him to keep the club from falling apart. That was exactly what Wellington would have done himself had Richard not been there: find someone better than him at inspiring and keeping the club together, a pawn, a puppet king while he ruled from the shadows. Great minds thought alike, Wellington thought, but maybe he was overthinking it. Perhaps he was overestimating Command. "If you cannot have both, it is better to be feared than loved, eh?" Wellington said to break the silence. "Richard would disagree. Why are you telling me this?"

"They don't call me the Jack of Clubs for nothing. I thrive on conversation and communications in all forms," Jack said. Wellington looked at him confused. "Although some would say I'm more of a Jack of Spades, a workaholic who'd work himself to death. I'm sure Ace's smoke will kill me first."

Wellington chuckled. He had finally found someone with a stranger interest than him. Command's obsession with card symbolism was peculiar to say the least. He wondered whether that was how Richard felt when he brought up all sorts of historical comparisons. He wondered whether that was how he looked the outside as well: a quirky workaholic. He couldn't wait for the tournament to end so he could turn into Monty for a few months.


	73. The finals finally begin

"Sir!" Patton brought his hand to his helmet covered head in salute. At least he had the common sense to protect his brain. Most other boys and girls preferred wearing berets or nothing at all. Although, chances were, he wore it for fashion rather than safety reasons.

"Come here, soldier," Wellington said. "I've got a special mission for you."

Paton's face lit up instantly. "Sir, yes, sir!" At least he didn't mention Yukari again.

On the other side of Eton's line-up, Richard looked at the Cromwell with a smile. The race car of tanks – he'd get to let loose for the first part of the match. He shook his head. No, he couldn't let loose – he'd throw a track. He had to reign it in, touch but not exceed the vehicle's limits. He hoped Wellington's plan would work – otherwise, they'd lose their fastest tank for nothing. He shook his head again. Of course it would work.

Meanwhile, Wellington had finished his briefing of Patton just in time. Before going to her tank, Darjeeling dropped by. "Katyusha sends her regards," she said, as Patton saluted and took his leave. Wellington turned to her and threw a curious look. "She will watch the match with great interest and asked me to tell you she expects nothing less than complete victory from her rival."

"Kind words from Napoleon? I'm flattered," Wellington said. He tried not to seem too moved, but Darjeeling felt he was impressed by Katyusha's praises. After all, the girl rarely recognized an equal. "I'll try not to disappoint her, either," the boy retorted. "So many people have high expectations of me." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. There was nothing he hated more than having so many eyes on him.

Wellington walked to his tank as the captains of the two teams met in front of the judges for the ceremonial shaking of hands. "May the best team win," Richard said.

Top grinned. "We both know who that is."

* * *

"This commander of Eton is perplexing!" Command said. He stood on top of the Sherman as Top eased in the driver's seat. "We're facing the namesake of Wellington. If there's anything to his name, he should be the master of contingency planning. Arthur Wellesley saved his army and campaign by created the defensive Lines of Torres Vedras in advance of his retreat into Portugal. Wellington seems to be obsessed with the Iron Duke, but so far, it seems like his plan A always succeeded. I'm afraid that if I presume he has no plan B I'll underestimate him, but presuming he does might mean overestimating him."

Top threw a disinterested look. "Does it matter?" he mumbled.

"Know the enemy and know yourself," Command said.

"What?"

"Sun Tzu," Command explained.

Top's eyebrows twitched into a scowl. "Just don't lose," he ordered.

* * *

Both teams were at their starting points, waiting for the match to officially start.

"Wellesley never addressed his troops en masse. Why should I?" Wellington asked.

"You already did once," Richard said. He stood next to the Challenger's turret, tapping his foot on its hull armour.

"Never again," Wellington said. "Wellesley inspired by leadership and example, not oratory."

"Will you stop it with this Wellesley thing? You're not him. You're your own man! I want _you_ to lead us now, not some guy who died two hundred years ago."

Wellington let out a long sigh. "Fine! I'll do it." He grabbed his radio and stared at it for a few moments, pondering what to say. When the idea finally came to him, he took a deep breath and declared. "Today, we show these bloody yanks what a true champion looks like. There will be hard pounding, ladies and gentlemen, from both sides. Let us see who will pound longest. Stiff upper lip and all that. Keep calm and Floreat Etona!"

The lads and lasses of Eton cheered in unison. Richard shook his head, but he couldn't stop a smile from taking over his face and a chuckle from leaving his chest. Well, could have been worse. He'd take what he could get.

With Richard finally appeased and walking towards the Cromwell, Wellington settled in his seat. Everyone knew their mission and was waiting for a single thing. The flair that announced the commencement of the battle echoed near the tribunes, a moment before the judges declared it in words over the loudspeaker. "Up, lads, and at them!" Wellington ordered as the engines revved up. The game was officially on.


	74. Update 4

_Sadly, things at work have been busy this week as well, so progress is slow. I'm starting to run out of bones to throw you guys too. Here's something about how some of the characters look like. When I make a character, it can go one of two ways: I either find a pic I like and use it to inspire the creation, or create the character without a pic (like normal people do) then try to find a pic later._

* * *

**Wellington** looks very much like Thames from Americana Dawn, a game that never was finished. I actually saw the image first and used it as inspiration for the character. This isn't the first fic I've written him in, so he's grown a bit since version 1.0, but if you ever wanted to see a nice pic of him, that's how he looks like, mostly.

**Richard** started off without an image. Unlike Wellington, I found a character to look like how I imagined him only later. Actually found quite a few characters that came close to how I imagined him, but by far the best is Saber from Fate/Prototype, and there's a pic floating around the net with a male Red Saber from Fate/Extra that also looks like him. Yet somehow, Castus is nicknamed after King Arthur :P

Of the characters I also found looked a bit like Richard, I think England from Hetalia, at least in some artwork, also gets close. Honorable mentions to Kise Ryouta from Kuroko no Basket, Edgar J. C. Ashenbert from Earl and Fairy and Usui Takumi from Maid-sama.

**Castus** was also created from scratch. I had difficulty finding any existing character that looks like him, but there was one fanart of Squall Leonhart from Final Fantasy that came close.

**Sharpe** was initially based off Marco from Avalon High, but he grew into a far different character. Right now, he looks like Izaya Orihara from Durarara, but without the devious smiles (he's more straight faced), or a black haired Prussia from Hetalia.

**Richard's mother, Elizabeth** looks like Lydia Carlton from Earl and Fairy (Hakushaku to Yousei), which is kind of strange, because Edgar is the typical blonde bishounen like Richard and there were pics out there shipping them, so to me it looked like they were shipping Richard with his mother.

**Richard's father** looks almost identical to Ronnie Sukiart/Schiatto and **his uncle** looks like Elmer C. Albatross (hence being call Elmer as well) from Baccano. These are cases of finding the pic first and making the characters afterwards. Richard's father however doesn't have anything in common with the character he's based on (except the looks), while Elmer does have the smile of Elmer (without the psychosis).

**Monty** looks like Miharu Rokujou from Nabari No Ou, but otherwise they have nothing in common, since I didn't even watch the series. Another case of finding the pic first.

**Richard's other uncle** (Claus, Monty's father) is based of Alex Row from Last Exile, to an extent that almost makes me blush.

**Katanako, the Shogun, **was created before finding a pic, but then I found Rikudou Sui from Yamiyo ni Odore during a google search and she looks exactly how I imagined her.

**Beka** is an odd ball. She's been inspired by Revy from Black Lagoon, even if her personality is nothing like Revy's. I found that she's like a mix of Kyoko Sakura from Madoka Magica, Revy from Black Lagoon, Cui Yifei from that abomination called Muv-Luv, and Yukihime Kirishima from Denpa-teki na Kanojo.

**Heinz** is pretty much based of Germany from Axis Powers Hetalia.

**Augustus **I made without a pic, but he does look like Rome from Hetalia.

**Ryouma and Tadatsune **I still haven't found pics for, but… errr…. Nagakura Shinpachi and Saitou Hajime from… I forgot what anime.

**Patton** is like a slightly skinnier version of Hirano Kouta from High school of the dead, maybe…

**Louise Windsor **is based on the real person. I hope HRH won't sue me.

**Ryuu **is kind of inspired from Doragon from Sakurasou… although they aren't much alike.

**Top **looks a bit like Lelouch from Code Geass, and has the voice of the Pacifier AFV from Red Alert 3 Uprising.

**Harbinger **has no similar character to look like, but he has the voice of the Harbinger gunship from RA3 Uprising.

**Cowboy **is like Harbinger, no pics, and has the voice of the Century Bomber from Red Alert 3.

You might notice they use some unit quotes.

**Peter **and his sisters are based off characters of Hetalia as well. Ivan and Peter (twins) look like Russia in some fanarts, Sofia looks like Ukraine and Natasha like Belarus.

Peter also used the soviet 'expression' about burying people. You may have heard it in Red Alert 2 ("we will bury them"). It's based on the "We will bury you!" quote attributed to Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev. According to Wikipedia it was used while addressing Western ambassadors at a reception at the Polish embassy in Moscow on November 18, 1956. The phrase was originally translated into English by Khrushchev's personal interpreter Viktor Sukhodrev. The actual verbal context was: "Whether you like it or not, history is on our side. We will dig you in" ("Нравится вам или нет, но история на нашей стороне. Мы вас закопаем").

* * *

If anyone has any questions, you can ask them on the forums.


	75. The run for Bunker Hill

_AN: Finally managed to get the first part together. Enjoy._

* * *

The battlefield's topography for the finals was unordinary to say the least. In the southernmost part of the map there was a large hill, a perfectly defensible position. From under it, a river emerged, flowing north, cutting the lower half of the battlefield in two, before splitting itself, creating a small island in the upper half of the map. Larger than a creek, it was impossible to cross, even by tanks – a natural barrier that could only be traversed through one of three locations: the hill from which it was born, or one of the bridges built by the Federation. The first bridge was not far north of the hill, and not far south of the river bifurcation. The second was actually made of two bridges that linked the island to the rest of the mainland. Forest covered much of the area, with some unpaved roads cutting through it.

Command's company was moving south, leaving a cloud of dirt behind.

"They'll reach the hill first," Drake said into the radio to his team. "Still, no matter how much they trained, our crews should be more skilled. We should be able to wrestle control of the hill from them before they can reinforce it. They won't have time to plant traps, but keep your eyes peeled regardless." He scanned the horizon as Top drove the Sherman towards it. He knew Wellington well enough. The glorious strategist would break his force in two; send the faster tanks to take the hill in the south – that meant the Comets – and the slower tanks to secure the bridges in the north – that mean the Fireflies. As for the third route, the southern bridge… Command ignored it. He had a hunch about what Wellington had in mind for it.

If they used the roads, unpaved as they were, they could get to the bridge on the west side of the island before his boys – hide in the forest and ambush, while the Crusaders tried to get behind and blow up Roosevelt's tanks from the sides or rear. Another option Eton had was to try and hold the west bridge from the other side, but it wasn't a good option. There was little cover on the west side of the river. Command knew it, Wellington knew it, and Command knew Wellington knew it. No, they'd lie in ambush. It was the obvious choice.

Knowing all that, Command easily devised a counterplan. He didn't want to go all in from the first moment. He didn't need to either. Roosevelt had four companies. The fifteen M4A3E8 Sherman tanks were part of Alpha. Bravo was made up of three T26E4 Super Pershing and four T26E3/M26 Pershing tanks. Charlie had the heavy experimental vehicles – the T29E2, T30E1, T34 and T32E1. And last, but not least, the T28 Super Heavy Tank escorted by three T26E5 Heavy Pershings made up Delta. Seven Shermans from Alpha and the four M26s from Bravo would run for the hills to dislodge Eton's defence, while the Super Preshings from Bravo would comb the island forest with support from the remaining eight Shermans of Alpha. That was more than enough to win. With a bit of luck, Command wouldn't even need to apply his reserves. Charlie and Delta would sit on their asses for the whole match.

And so Drake sat confident in the commander seat of his Easy Eight, waiting patiently for the report of the scout he had sent southwest. "Command, this is Alpha Seven, the southern bridge is out, over," the report soon came.

Drakes' lips curved into a faint smile. He'd anticipated that move. Wellington wanted to engage in the forested areas of the map. The southern bridge was part of a clear route that advantaged Roosevelt. Keeping it would have been costly for Eton, and leaving it undefended would have left their rear exposed. It was the correct strategic choice. Command guessed that the Tortoise – that was certainly on its way to the hill – must have stopped midway to fire a HE shell at the bridge. "Roger, Alpha Seven. Proceed back toward the hill. Alpha Actual, out." The faint smile on his face turned to a grin. Wellington was so predictable. "We'll put them to rest."

* * *

Alpha Company didn't even bother to maintain formation. They raced pedal to the metal to the hill, trying to get there as fast rather than at the same time. Had they moved at the speed of the slowest tank, Eton's Christie equipped vehicles would have all reached the hill. Command didn't want to give Wellington even one second to dig in. This way, whatever tank got first could engage and cause some damage before the others entered range and opened fire. It was a calculated risk.

"Command, this is Alpha Three, we'll be in sight of the hill in one minute, over." The third tank in the company had gained a two to three minute head start during the race. It could get a fair number of shots in before the rest of his teammates engaged. "We're in sight. There's only one Cromwell, sir."

Command's voice boomed through the radio like a baritone at the opening act of an opera. "Erase them!"

"Aye-aye, Command!" Alpha Three confirmed. "Gunner, AP, Cromwell, 500 yards."

"Identified!"

"Fire!"

"On the way!" The 76mm M1A2 began its song of fire and light. It spat out the APCBC shell out at almost 800 meters per second, towards the British tank. The Sherman's crew traced its trajectory. It was good. It would land straight in the hull and take out the Cromwell. A few moments later it connected, just as expected. It bounced off.

"What?!" The tank commander didn't realize that he still had his finger on the transmit button.

"What's wrong?" Command asked from the other side. Before Alpha Three could answer, the OQF 75mm replied in kind to the pat on the chest. Eton's shell, however, didn't bounce, and the Sherman's commander soon stared at the white flag that popped next to him.

"Bloody hell, it worked!" Richard cried from the Cromwell's driver seat. "Mate, you're a genius!"

From the other side of the transmission, Wellington sighed with relief. "It's basic trigonometry, really. Good thing they didn't shoot APCR."

Richard had positioned the Cromwell just right. Its vertical armour would have stood no chance against the Sherman's gun on flat land. They weren't on flat land though. On the forward military crest of the hill, the compound angle made by the horizontal and vertical angling of the Cromwell gave it an effective armour high enough to bounce Roosevelt's APCBC shells.

"We're out…" Alpha Three mumbled over the radio. "They took us out."

"What?" Command eyes jerked left and right for a few moments as he tried to understand the situation.

"This is Alpha Four, Alpha Five and we are in sight of the hill. The Cromwell's still there, over!"

Realization washed over Jack Drake. "Angle your hulls, you fools! They shooting at you from above, neutralizing the slope on your upper glacis!" he cried into the microphone. "And load HVAP!"

"Shit, they're angling their hulls," Churchill said in the intercom. From the commander's seat of the Cromwell, he looked through his binoculars at the enemies below. "Captain, we should pull back." As soon as Richard heard the suggestion, he switched to reverse and pushed on both levers. The tank slowly rumbled backwards. "Gunner, put some smoke on them!" Churchill ordered.

"Smoke up!" the loader cried.

"On the way!" the gunner followed. One of Roosevelt's Shermans vanished in a puff of smoke and in the few seconds that took the cloud to dissipate, the Cromwell was behind the slope of the hill.

"Command, Alpha Four here, they've backed up behind the hill before we could swap ammo and shoot. Shall we advance? Over."

"Negative," Drake said. "They won't be able to set up traps with you there. Hold position. The rest of the company will arrive momentarily. Over."

"Roger that, Command. Alpha Five out."

About a minute later, the rest of A Squadron arrived at the hill. Eight Comets and one Challenger joined the Cromwell on the reverse slope. Richard had brought the cruiser in a turret down position, which unlike a full hide position, allowed Churchill to observe what was happening on the other side. Roosevelt had managed to gather a fair number of tanks and was probably ready to attack.

"They won't attack," Wellington said. "Maybe poke at us, but Drake won't commit to a full assault. Not before the other half of his force breaks through B Squadron in the north."

"So what do we do?" Churchill asked.

"Sit tight. Monty will arrive in the Tortoise soon enough. When he does, we push."

"Hey, mate," Richard said. "Isn't this plan a bit simple? Did you really run out of tricks?"

"Tricks won't work against Command. Neither of us can think something up without the other figuring it out," Wellington said. "This will be a very direct battle, at least at first." He stared at the Roosevelt tanks that were lined up turret down behind a small ridge, almost half a kilometre away. Six Easy Eights and four Pershings was standing by, with no other incoming tanks apparent. The route to the hill wasn't completely flat. Roosevelt didn't have difficulty finding at least some limited cover, even if it wasn't as defensible as the hill itself.

They had to have realized the southern bridge was down by then. Command had probably predicted it, even. It was no fun fighting against an opponent that could predict most of your moves. Wellington sighed relieved – at least he could predict Drake's as well. With the tanks gathered in the south, the glorious strategist guessed what Darjeeling and Jajka had to face. They were in charge of B and Light Squadron respectively, and sent to the north to secure the island. The Cromwell trick was subtle enough that Command didn't anticipate it. The same could not be said about the general deployment of his squadrons. Roosevelt tanks must have been on their way to the island, knowing exactly what would ambush them. Regardless, even without surprise, Eton still had an advantage up north. Hopefully, the enemy numbers weren't high enough to overwhelm the girls.

Wellington had hoped that Roosevelt would keep more than the heavies behind. Command wasn't as arrogant as Top. If the Pershings were here, the rest of Eton would probably have to face Super Pershings.

"Richard," Wellington said. "Switch with my driver. The Cromwell has fulfilled its purpose."

The Challenger's former driver got out to allow Richard in. "Win the battle for us, Captain!" he said.

Richard patted him on the back. "It's not me who's going to win this for us, mate." He threw a glance to Wellington, who was standing out of the tanks turret, peering over the battlefield.

Wellington noticed he was being watched. He looked down to see the two drivers were standing outside the tank doing nothing. "Well, what are you waiting for? Shake a leg, we don't have all day!"

"They're coming at us!" Churchill cried. "Two Pershings!"

"Move to hull down position," Wellington ordered. "Defend the hill. This will be our Waterloo." Richard jumped inside the driver's seat, thanking God it wasn't the Comet he was supposed to get rapidly into. In a couple of seconds, he had revved the engine and brought the tank forward. "Driver, stop!" Wellington ordered when he thought the Challenger was exposed enough. In the distance, the two Roosevelt Pershings stopped and started pulling back. The rest of the enemy tanks, still hull down behind the ridge, opened fire. One shell flew dangerously close. Wellington instinctively ducked. "All units, hold fire and hide!" he ordered. "Driver, reverse!" Richard complied, pushing on the levers and bringing the tank safely behind cover once more.

Command was poking them, making sure they didn't abandon the hill, as unwise a strategy that would have been. He didn't want to advance until his other force helped surround Eton's position. Wellington didn't want to advance until he got Roosevelt surrounded either, or the Tortoise arrived. And thus, they played the waiting game.


	76. UPDATE 5

_AN: I was very close to finishing the next chapter for today, but I didn't. Should come out next week. Thank y'all for your patience. Meanwhile, here are the lineups of all the battles so far:_

* * *

* Eton vs Pravda (10v10)

1x A30 Challenger, 1x A27M Cromwell VII, 5x A15 Crusader III, 3x A15 Crusader II

2x T-34/76, 6x T-34/85, 1x KV-2, 1x IS-2m

* * *

* Eton vs KMM (12v15)

1x A30 Challenger, 1x A27M Cromwell VII, 5x A15 Crusader III, 5x A15 Crusader II

2x Königstiger, 1x Tiger, 1x Maus, 1x Panzer III, 6x Panther, 1x Elephant, 1x Jagdpanther, 1x Jagdtiger, 1x Jagdpanzer IV

* * *

* Eton vs Gordost (20v20)

8x A34 Comet, 1x A39 Tortoise, 1x A43 Black Prince, 10x Sherman Firefly

10x T-44A, 1x ISU-152, 2x ISU-122S, 3x IS-2m, 4x BT-8

* * *

* Eton vs Roosevelt (30v30)

8x A34 Comet, 1x A30 Challenger, 1 xA27M Cromwell VII, 10x Sherman Firefly, 1x A39 Tortoise, 1x A43 Black Prince, 5x A15 Crusader III, 3x A15 Crusader II

15x M4A3E8 Sherman, 3x T26E4 (T15E2) Super Pershing, 4x T26E3/M26 Pershing, 4x T29E2+T30E1+T34+T32E1, 1x T28 Super Heavy Tank, 3x T26E5 Heavy Pershing


	77. The Forest

_AN: Recent subscribers, you've favorited and followed just in time. Things are starting to heat up._

* * *

The bridge swung slowly as the last tanks crossed it. Eight M4A3E8s and three T26E4s formed a line in front of the forest. Inside the tanks, Command's voice boomed in every headset. "Don't forget, you will face former Gloriana women and they will be waiting for you. Do not underestimate them."

"Sir, yes, sir!" the company commander replied before switching the SCR-528 radio to the company channel. "Steel Section, we'll be the vanguard. Heavy Metal, you guys cover the back and be ready to pour 90mm death."

"Fuck yeah!" a Pershing commander cried. "Let's show those chicks what real men look like! Their panties will drop real fast after that."

"Hell yeah!" another boy cried. "I've been waiting to get myself some a piece of Brit lady ass for a while. I bet they don't get much action with their tea parties and shit."

"You do know they're actually Japanese for the most part, right?" the company commander asked, only to be met with incredulous stares. "Whatever, you ignorant dicks, just get the song playing and move your asses."

* * *

Wind blew through the leaves, caressed the tree branches, singing a song of peace and quiet. Even the birds chose to lower their voices, as if expecting a coming storm. Jajka chewed on her lower lip. Her right leg kept jerking up and down as she sat in the commander's seat of the Crusader. It was her first match at Eton, and the first Sensha-dou battle she'd taken part in for quite a while. She was eager to prove herself to Wellington. Her eyes raced left and right, her mind focused on seeing the enemy before they saw her.

Meanwhile, Darjeeling relaxed in her seat, occasionally taking a sip of tea. There was no point in worrying. Jajka was the vanguard, and as such, she would report any enemy contact first. During World War II, when the German Air Force was bombing London, the citizens of London continued to have their teatime. A true lady would have surely been capable of doing the same during a mere tournament match, be it the finals or otherwise. Still, the battle was bound to become quite intense, so Darjeeling planned to finish her cup before the actual battle began. No sense in ruining her precious uniform by spilling tea on it. And so, she sipped and waited.

According to the glorious strategist, Roosevelt would know about their ambush. They'd probably scour the area rather than advance in a column on the road. Regardless, Eton could get a shot or two before the enemy retaliated. Hopefully, it would be enough.

A strange sound flew with the wind, through the trees. Not engines – a low-pitch vibration that made the ground itself vibrate, far away and getting closer until words became audible. Jajka let out a long sigh. It was some sort of metal music. She'd gotten sick and tired of it at Bonple. She couldn't argue that Wladek's use of Sabaton was good for morale, but there was only so much she could take. After a few more moments, the audible words became discernable.

"Let the bodies hit the floor?" Jajka mumbled. "How quaint…" At least that song in particular hadn't been played around her a million times. Without noticing, she found herself moving head to the beat for a second, before realizing it and refocusing. "Target spotted. They're combing the forest," her voice came over the radio. "Their vanguard tank has huge loudspeakers on it… hard to miss."

Darjeeling swigged the rest of her tea in a single gulp. "Maintain position. The foliage should keep you hidden until we open fire and get their attention."

"Confirmed," Jajka said. With a bit of luck, by the time Roosevelt noticed the hidden Crusaders, they'd be close enough for the Fireflies to open fire and distract their attention. Then they would advance, and Jajka would find her light squadron behind the enemy, ready to shoot them in the back.

As expected, the loud song gave the enemy position better than even their engines did. It was a simple matter to stare at the location the sound was coming from, waiting for visual contact. "What bad taste," Darjeeling mumbled. "Gunner, Sherman, straight ahead," she said after spotting the opposing team through the foliage.

"Identified," her gunner confirmed.

"OK, ladies, let's show these barbarians the meaning of elegance," Darjeeling declared to her squadron, before turning back to the gunner. "Open fire," she ordered with her usual calm tone. In contrast to her voice, the 17-pounder roared deafeningly. Both she and her gunner tracked the projectile flying through the air, between the trees. A miss.

"Bloody 17-pounders, it was so much easier in a Matilda!" the gunner cried, as the first metal song ended and another track began.

"Keep calm and carry on shooting," Darjeeling said.

After navigating the ergonomic nightmare that was the Firefly's turret, the loader announced, "Up!"

"Fire," Darjeeling ordered anew. This time, the 17-pounder shell found its target, a moment after another one glanced the turret, taking half of the speakers down with it. The white KO flag came out of the Sherman's turret and the metal song, even then barely audible over the symphony of firepower that echoed through the forest, died off completely.

'Die motherf…' the curse word was interrupted, melting into an unintelligible electronic noise. "No, you die!" the Firefly's gunner said with a grin before breaking into a giggle.

"Can we attack, yet?" Inside the Crusader Mark III, next to Jajka, the gunner stared with impatience.

"Not yet," Jajka said.

One by one, the enemy tanks passed the Crusaders and entered the ambush perimeter. One by one Jajka counted them, until eight Shermans and three Super Pershings were in. According to Wellington, that accounted for all the Pershing and Sherman tanks. Also accounting to him, that would be the most they'd face for the moment. Command would keep the rest in reserve. It was time to strike.

The radio was buzzing with chatter.

"We're hit!" a Firefly commander cried.

"We're out," a moment later, another added.

"Enemy down!"

"Now is the time!" Jajka cried into her radio. "Strike like the winged hussars!"

"But I want to be a Life Guard…" her gunner mumbled.

"Shut up and open fire!" Jajka cried.

At her order, the 6-pounder spouted a shot of armour-piercing, composite non-rigid at the enemy. The Littlejohn squeeze bore compressed the softer and malleable metal of the outer shell from 40mm into a 30mm, dense chunk of supersonic destruction. The projectile hit a Super Pershing straight in the rear. Smoke burst out of its engine, followed by the infamous white flag. A moment later, another Super Pershing went up in smoke, victim of one of Jajka's squadron mates.

"They're behind us!" a boy shouted. One of the Shermans stopped its advance and started turning towards the Crusaders. A Mark II fired it's 2 pounder at it, but missed. Another shot too late and its projectile bounced off the angled upper glacis. The 76mm M1 roared with fury, as if angry for the fall of its allies. A Crusader went down.

"Reverse!" Jajka cried. "Get us out of sight!"

The number of tanks fighting on the island, both British and American, dwindled rapidly. Shermans peeked from between the trees and took shots at each other. From inside her Firefly, Darjeeling peered through a periscope. A nearby tree was hit, its wood shattering into pieces. The sound of splinters hitting metal echoed through the tank.

With Jajka's troop in disarray after having scrambled to avoid fire, the remaining Fireflies had to hold the line alone, and there were not many standing. If Darjeeling counted correctly, she was left with three tanks. At least they could use the wrecks of their allies as cover. The white flag of the Firefly next to her own flapped in the wind in her peripheral vision, as if trying to distract her. Then a new opponent appeared from between the trees. The girl could hear the loud rumble of its engine even over her own. The last Super Pershing was closing in.

"Gunner, sabot, Pershing, straight ahead!" Darjeeling ordered.

"Identified!" the gunner cried.

"Up!"

Darjeeling hesitated. The frontal armour on the enemy tank was too think. Even with APDS at that range, she could not expect to reliably penetrate. She gave the upper glacis a long look. The Pershing kept closing in. It fired a shot at them, only for it to lodge into the metal of the other Firefly wreck. The girls inside shrieked at the impact, loud enough for Darjeeling to hear them. She had to figure something out fast. A moment later, realization washed over her and lit up her face. "The machine gun…" she mumbled. "Aim for the hull machine gun. It's a weak spot!" she ordered.

"Roger!" her gunner confirmed. The girl wasn't Assam, but Darjeeling trusted she could hit the target at that distance, even with the inaccurate sabot rounds. At least the batch Wellington had ordered was of Canadian design, and sabots discarded better. With the original sabots, she couldn't be sure of a hit even at a couple of hundred yards.

"Fire!" Darjeeling ordered. The tungsten rod flew through the air. A split second later, it struck straight into the tiny hole from which machinegun poked it's barrel. The white flag popped up.

"Target down!" the gunner cried.

Darjeeling sighed relieved. "Good job, but it's not over yet."

The battle had degenerated into a complete mess. Sherman wrecks littered the forest and Darjeeling could swear that at least one of her tanks had been taken out by friendly fire in the confusion. She hoped that the same thing happened to the enemy. "Commander, we're out!" a Firefly reported.

"Don't worry, we got–" another said over the radio, only to be interrupted by a high-pitched scream. "Sorry. They took us out too."

Down to a single tank, Gloriana's former captain struggled to control the pounding in her chest. It was a good thing she hadn't tried to fight while drinking tea, for she should have definitely spilled it. "Everyone, status report. How many enemies are left?" Darjeeling spoke into the microphone.

"Jajka here. My entire unit has been wiped out. I'm the only one standing."

Darjeeling fought back the anger. For the moment it took to reinforce her composure, she gripped the hand-held microphone in silence. Everything she wanted that second was to get a breath of air, take her bra off and take a shower. Nothing compared to that feeling of relief and a fresh shower or hot bath. But that was hardly the time for any of it. After a deep breath, she continued. "How many enemies are left?"

The radio crackled for a few seconds. "Two Shermans… I think," Jajka said.

Darjeeling smiled. She reached for the teacup instinctively, before remembering it was empty. She chuckled. "We can still win. Do you know where they are?"

"I have a general idea," Jajka said.

Just as the Firefly revved up its engine and moved out, Darjeeling popped her head outside. The breeze was pleasant, cooling her brow and drying the drops of sweat that had formed on her face. She reached inside the pocket of her jacked for a handkerchief to wipe her forehead. The battle so far had proven to be a bit more intense than what she usually took part in. It wasn't often she sweated in the Churchill. The reassuring heavy armour and limited mobility allowed the crew to take it easy. The Firefly provided no such luxury. Come to think of it, that was the first time she used her handkerchief that way. Normally, she'd bite down on it during the intense scenes of a romance movie or when reading a particularly interesting passage of a love novel.

She adjusted her bra, not the release she yarned for, but it was better than nothing. Having big breasts had it's ups and downs. In a way, she could relate to the Firefly she was commanding. A big gun that was a pain to enemy armour and the crew that operated it as well. She chuckled at the metaphor she'd come up with before her line of thought was interrupted by radio chatter.

"Jajka here, I found them." The girl's voice over the crackling of the radio woke Darjeeling up from her thought-induced trance. "Or, at least I think it's them. I can hardly see them through the foliage."

Darjeeling picked up the hand-held, a plan already in mind. "I'll charge them, take one out, probably get taken out by the second one, but buy you enough time to swing behind and shoot their engine."

"Sounds good to me–" Jajka said, before erupting in cursing. "Oh! _Kurwa! _I can hear a second group. I think there are two more Shermans east of the first."

"Please watch you language, dear. It's a bad show," Darjeeling said, struggling herself to hold back the heat building up in her chest. Why couldn't it even be easy?

"Hold on, I have an idea," Jajka said.

Inside the massive hull of the Tortoise, Monty was surprisingly awake. His eyes were half closed, but he kept tapping his foot on the metal floor of the vehicle, and jerked his head left and right, scanning his crew as if to making sure they did their jobs right. Ryuu glanced nervously at him from the gunner's seat, occasionally breaking down into a chuckle, despite efforts not to do so. Monty looked like he was sugar high.

"Mr. Math, you there?" Jajka's voice came over the radio.

Ryuu let out another quick titter. Monty threw him a glare. "How come you call Wellington 'my lord' but you don't call me 'your grace'? I'm a duke, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, when you'll call me _senpai_, I'll consider it," Jajka said. "Right now, I have a fire mission for you – danger close."

After receiving the coordinates, Monty started scribbling calculations on a small notepad. Taking into account the difference of altitude, wind conditions, distance, cover, humidity and all sorts of thing that would have made anyone else's head spin, he came up with a firing solution. "Loader, high explosive; driver, put us fifteen degrees north north-east; Ryuu, elevation, nineteen degrees," he said. Everyone nodded and executed the orders. As he put the notebook away, Monty scratched his head and yawned. "Fire at will."

Surely enough, after a few moments of adjusting itself, the Tortoise's shot it's massive 32-pounder into the sky. The blast echoed through the valley, causing all birds to take flight from the trees in the vicinity. From inside her Crusader, Jajka could already hear the sound of the massive shell whizzing through the air. "Incoming. Brace!" she shouted at her crew.

A muffled thump sounded a little to the north. Somehow, the familiar pop of the white flags seemed louder. Jajka removed her hands from her ears and looked up to see her crew staring at her as if she had winced for nothing. "You didn't think that heavy thing was filled with explosives, did you?" the gunner asked. "That would be silly."

Jajka chuckled nervously. "Of course not…" she mumbled. Then she grabbed the hand-held microphone and held it up to her lips. "Nice shot, your grace," the girl said, instinctively throwing in a wink, despite the boy not being able to see it. "They're all out." Without waiting for a response, she switched to the B set Very High Frequency transmitter-receiver on the Wireless Set No. 19 installed in the tank. Unlike the A set that was used for long-range communication, the B set was used for line of sight, under one mile chatter. "Jajka to Darjeeling. The first group is out. Let's apply your plan on the second." Who would have imagined the two girls could work so well together? Not long before, the newcomer avoided Gloriana's former captain out of fear, not that she would have admitted it. Now they planned a flanking manoeuvre together, getting along just fine. All she had to do was give up on Wellington. For a moment, she wondered whether it was worth it. Her line of thought was cut short by an incoming transmission.

"We're in position," Darjeeling calm voice came through. "Ready when you are."

"Attack," Jajka said. "I'll be behind them in a moment."

"Driver, forward," Darjeeling ordered.

The Roosevelt boys were bound to hear her coming from a mile away. After losing their friends to long-range fire, they must have been confused, perhaps planning to scramble. But Darjeeling wanted them both in once place. Charging trumpets blowing was bound to catch their attention, and she was pretty sure her gunner could pull a shot before being taken out. As she closed in, the enemy tanks finally became visible through the trees.

"Driver, stop," Darjeeling ordered. "Shoot the leftmost Sher–" Shock prevented her from finishing the order. There were three tanks in the opening, not two! "Fire!" she cried.

"On the way!" The 17-pounder screamed, lodging an AP shell into the targeted medium. Half a second later, the remaining two M1s struck the Firefly's upper glacis at once. The white flag popped out of the turret, signalling's the end of Darjeeling's role in the battle.

Right on time, Jajka's Crusader Mark III emerged from the foliage behind the Shermans. From atop the tank, the blonde's eyes grew wide. She blinked hoping they were playing tricks on her. "What? There's three?" Her crew did not share her confusion. They were too focused on doing their jobs right. The driver stopped right next to the middle Sherman, and the gunner put a 6-pounder round in its engine.

"Enemy down," the gunner said. "Wait, what do you mean three?"

"Get us out of here!" Jajka cried. The last Sherman rotated it's turret and hull towards them. Jajka stared in terror at its 76mm gun as it struggled to align itself with her tank. "Move, move!" Like a spry little thing, the Crusader outmanoeuvred its opponent, keeping ahead of its canon by dashing to its right and vanishing into the foliage.

Only after putting a few hundred meters between herself and the enemy did Jajka realized she was soaked in sweat. Panting as if she had ran from the predator on foot, she rubbed her forehead. The back of her hand was smudged in wet foundation cream and she could feel the eyeliner smearing on her cheeks. _Tsk_. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to wear makeup during a heated battle… but she had to look good – it was what she always did. She had to be presentable when she'd win the battle for Eton… for Wellington. That was but a pleasant dream, she came to realize. She'd failed. It was all her fault for miscounting the enemy tanks. The very least she could do was to take responsibility.

"Jajka to Wellington, I've failed you," she spoke into the microphone of the A set High Frequency radio transmitter-receiver, struggling to hide the regret in her voice and failing miserably.

The boy's familiar voice came back through, his tone mixed with a combination of confusion and irritation. "What? What do mean?" he asked, making the girl wince.

"I… I'm the only one left. And Roosevelt still has a Sherman."

"It's OK. I anticipated this," he said. Jajka sighed relieved. She had expected him to be mad at her, although in part she also felt disappointed that he had such low expectations. Knowing him, though, he would have called them realistic, not low. The girl tried to embrace the reassuring thought that the odds had been against her in the forest. She failed and doubt started to cloud her mind anew.

"It's because I miscounted the enemy–" she tried to explain, unwilling to accept her own innocence until all the facts were on the table.

"It's OK. Move to phase three. We'll handle the last Sherman later."

"Aren't you going to yell at me, at least?" Jajka cried.

Before Wellington could reply, Darjeeling's voice came over the radio. "It is healthy to be reminded that the strongest might weaken and the wisest might err."

Wellington pushed the button on his microphone to talk, but hesitated. "Is that Ghandi?" Castus' voice could be heard instead.

"Bloody hell, just execute phase three already," Wellington finally spoke. "If I were to yell at everyone who makes a simple mistake I'd run out of voice."

Jajka hadn't even realized when tears started flowing down her cheeks. She could not believe that Darjeeling, of all people came to her defence. She wiped her eyes, makeup be dammed, and sent one final message before switching to the intercom. "Yes, my lord." She didn't hear the facepalm that echoed through the comm channel, instead focusing on her crew. "Driver, forward. Get us to the bridge."

"By God, I might not yell at her for miscounting, but I'll bloody sure do it if she keeps calling me that," Wellington cried.

"Meh. She just thinks it makes her interesting," Castus mumbled.

Wellington shook his head. Even after toning down the flirting, the girl still was troublesome. Well, she had a good heart, at least after her heel-face turn, and she was a great light tank commander. He fiddled with the hand-held microphone, shooting his gaze into the horizon. The wait was stressing. He felt the urge to defocus his eyes, to close them and relax, but the adrenaline wouldn't let him. Any moment, Command could emerge with his tanks to prod his defence. His body was tense, his muscles almost aching. A soft hand touched his shoulder. He flinched at first, only to see Assam giving him a concerned look. A moment later, it was replaced by a reassuring smile. He smiled back, almost instinctively and the stiffness vanished, albeit not for long.

"Phase three complete, my lord," Jajka's voice came over the radio.

Wellington tightened his grip on the hand-held and brought it up to his mouth. "Good job. Now get to the hill."

"Negative. I'm on the other side of the bridge," Jajka said.

Wellington remained silent for a moment. Phase three of his plan involved destroying the north-western bridge by detonating HE shells that had been previously placed by the girls in the Crusaders Mark II, the main job of the under-gunned vehicles with five men crews. The thought that Jajka would be as dumb as to detonate the charges before crossing the bridge had never occurred to the glorious strategist. "Bloody hell, you were supposed to cross the thing first!" he cried.

"I know," Jajka said. "But I'll be of no use to you on that side. My crew and I will go out in a blaze of glory, trying to take out that final Sherman." A bittersweet smile grew on the girl's face. She found the idea of going down fighting hopelessly romantic. Plus her conscience was finally clear. The angry yells of her commander, the ones she was certain she deserved and even yearned for, had cleared it. She pondered for a second on whether she was a masochist, before shaking her head to dismiss the thought.

"What?" Wellington's voice finally woke Jajka up.

"Kill first, calculate later. Jajka, out."

"No, no, no!" her gunner interrupted. _"Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense!"_

Jajka ignored her. "Driver, move out. We're on the prowl."

* * *

"Fuck, man! There goes my chance to get into Brit panties." The commander of the last Sherman pouted as he scanned the trees for enemy activity. Despite being on the radio with the entire Roosevelt forest force, he insisted on whining, first about the loss of the audio system, then about the lack of action at school, until his company commander could take no more.

"Shut your pie hole! Dudes like you give us a bad name!" The company commander yelled into the microphone from inside his wrecked tank. "And for the last time, the chicks are all Japs! Unless you want some dude boxers to get into you ain't making no sense!"

The argument was interrupted by engine noise from behind the still operational tank. The whiny Sherman commander jerked his head towards it. "Enemy! Driver, turn–" The order ended halfway through when he saw the blonde beauty standing out of the tank that was driving towards him.

"Turn what?!" the driver asked, but the commander was too busy drooling, a smug smile on his face. The Crusader took a short leap off a bump before landing a few meter away from to the rear exhaust deflector, its gun pointed at it.

"Driver, stop!" Jajka cried.

The Crusader was so close that the Sherman's driver heard the order too. "Stop?! I'm already– wait, you're not–"

A loud bang echoed inside the M4. A 6-pounder had discharged into their engine from the rear. The commander didn't even notice the KO flag popping up next to him. He just kept gaping at the dishevelled woman a few meters away from him, picturing her naked and what he'd do to her if given the chance. The makeup smeared on her face, sweat flowing down her cheeks, and the panting only made her more attractive. "You're hot…" the boy mumbled.

Jajka adjusted the braid and swirled bun on her head. He wasn't that bad looking himself, and not long before, she'd have used his reaction to her advantage. But she was a different girl now. "Humph! I know," she said. "And you're dead."

* * *

"Tsk," Drake snorted, putting the hand-held down. A scowl took over his face and he clenched his teeth. It was difficult to believe that the forest group managed to lose. He directed his gaze through the binoculars towards the hill, where Eton continued their vigil. Only the sound of the wind could be heard over the silence of stopped engine – no point in wasting fuel. Of his entire company, he was the only tank commander actively surveilling the enemy. To his left and right, boys doze off in their seats under the sun. Had the wind not been blowing, they'd be sweating like pigs, instead of relaxing comfortably like a bunch of sloths. "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this," he mumbled, putting away the binoculars. He reached for the radio and switched channels to call the sleeping giants. "Cowboy, come in."

At Roosevelt's starting point, the crews of the heavy tanks were arguing on whether to make a barbeque or not. The voice of their commander crackled over the radio. Cowboy waved at his boys before reaching for the hand-held. "Settle down boys, Commands on the line!" The sound of his heavily accented voice instantly silenced his crew. "Go ahead, Command."

"Cowboy, are you prepared?" Drake's voice boomed.

"Ready to do what need to be done!" Cowboy answered, all enthusiastic.

"The battle on the island is over," Command said.

"Whoa! We beat them?" Cowboy cried into the radio. "Spark up the barbecue, we're coming home!"

"We lost," Command clarified. "There's still a Crusader left."

"Shit," Cowboy cussed. "You want us to go after 'em?"

"Negative. We'll commit the reserves to the hill from this side. It would take too long to cross the river."

"Well, then tell us when ya need us."

"You _are_ the reserves, smartass!" Command cried. "Start your engines. I need you in position at the bottom of the hill."

"Fine as cream gravy!" Cowboy cried.

"Excuse me, what?"

"You've got it, we're on our way!" Cowboy confirmed. He slapped the metal armour of his tank to get the attention of the crew. "Well boys, I reckon this is it. We got our orders."

"Yee-haw! Hell, it's about time!" From the gunner's seat, Harbinger beamed with glee.

"That's the spirit." Cowboy switched the channel on his radio to address the members of his company, just as the engine of the T30E1 revved up. "Common, boys! We're goin' on a queer hunt!"


	78. A flashback and a filler

_AN: A short filler and some exposition for you guys until I finish work on the next finals chapter._

* * *

"OK, ladies and gentlemen," Wellington started. "This is what we will face tomorrow." He switched off the lights and booted up the projector. The device displayed the images on the screen of his laptop on the white wall of the meeting room. A PowerPoint presentation – a primitive but effective way of sending across his analysis – Assam and Monty had helped make it the previous day. The latter, despite having the common courtesy of joining the meeting, was sleeping in one of the chairs. Turning off the lights must have knocked him out, presuming he wasn't already asleep when the darkness took over the room. Wellington didn't want to wake him, though. It didn't really matter what he was shooting at in the Tortoise. The massive 32-pounder could destroy anything, so Monty's attention was irrelevant.

"First opponent," Wellington continued, "the M4A3E8. Everybody knows this one. There's no reason to go over it again. Check the notes I've given you last time." The whole room nodded in approval. "Same goes for the M26 Pershing. Things only get interesting with the Super and Heavy Pershings. The Heavy, also known as Pershing Jumbo, official designation T26E5, is pretty much a simple Pershing with more armour – check the notes for details. It uses the same M3 gun. The Super Pershing, though, is more special. Originally, it was the opposite of the Heavy, with a better gun rather than more armour. Sadly, Roosevelt has approval to weld extra armour like on the Super Pershing used in Europe during the war, which is frankly cheating, since that one didn't use the T15E2 gun, but whatever. Study the armour layout carefully, for it has the thickest frontal armour than anything else Roosevelt has, bar the T28 Super Heavy Tank. As for the experimental T tanks, the T29, T30 and T34 all have similar hull armour to the M26, but different turrets and guns. The T32 is somewhat of a mix between the Super and the Heavy Pershing, with more armour than a normal M26 and the Super Pershing's gun. Although I don't know why they still use it, since the Super Pershing with its welded armour is superior in most ways. This concludes the short briefing. For further details, check the notes. Any questions?" Welington asked. Nobody said a thing. "Good. Dismissed."

* * *

No matter how much she had changed over the last two years, Mako could not undo any of the mistakes she had made. She thought that as she saw Eton's Montgomery get a kiss on the cheek from another girl near the VIP tribunes. She could not say that her heart sunk or describe it with any other such idiom, for she had never felt anything like it before. It was a mild, numbing pain in the chest, a faint ache that she could not rationally explain.

"Your friend seems to have gotten himself a future queen," Erwin said not far away from Mako.

"_Nein._ She's like tenth or eleventh in line," Heinz explained. "Besides, I doubt the prima donna did anything himself," he chuckled. "It was probably the girl who took interest in him, _ja._"

Erwin and Heinz had been together ever since the latter had transferred to Ooarai with his crew. Mako could not help but wonder… if she had tried to get a boyfriend herself, would she have lived such an idyllic life as well? It would have been very tiresome, that much was certain, an endeavor the old her would have not even considered, but she was no longer her old self. The mistakes she had done in the past had changed her for the better, thus she had not regretted them. This mistake, however, left her with what she could only describe as disappointment. Could it have been a product of regret over a missed opportunity? The boy called Montgomery was probably the closest thing to an ideal somebody for her, the girl's best shot at a boyfriend that could understand and relate. Mako wondered about what she could have done differently. Perhaps ask Saori for advice. Her old friend always praised herself to be a great relationship councilor.

"Are you OK?" Saori's voice snapped Mako from her trance.

Mako hesitated for a moment, giving her friend a long look, eyes half closed. "Um," she nodded. A lie. Saori normally read through her poker face, but this time she didn't insist. Mako wondered whether her evasion had been successful, or Saori had decided to spare her.

She looked once more at the blonde princess. It was not her beauty that won the day as much as her determination – something Mako severely lacked. Filled with energy, she floated around him, constantly grabbing his attention. She was radiant. Mako could not help but let out a short sigh. In the end, it did not matter. It was better that way. Besides, a princess was a far more suitable pair for a duke that a random Japanese commoner. Mako would move on. She had no other choice. There was no point in dwelling on the past.


	79. The lion against the bald eagle

Louise Winsor sat next to Maho, beaming at the large display that showed the developments of the battle. She didn't quite understand what was going on, at least not completely, but she found it enjoyable nonetheless. Every once in a while, her smile would fade, replaced by a curious look, just before she furrowed her brows thinking of something, then lit up once more with realization. No matter how authentic the realization looked, Maho questioned whether the conclusions the girl silently drew were correct. Compared to the princess, Kuromorimine's commander maintained her trademark stoic façade, observing the battle like a hawk, only occasionally glancing at her seatmate.

"Who's winning?" Louise's voice interrupted Maho's stare at the screen. She looked left to see the blonde girl gazing intently at her, her eyes flickering with enthusiasm and curiosity, as if having just realized that Maho could shed some light on the tactics employed.

"It's tight," Maho explained.

Louise's expression changed slightly, either disappointed by the shortness of the answer or the situation on the battlefield. Maho anticipated follow up questions nonetheless, so she chose not to redirect her attention back at the screen just yet. But Louise's gaze instead moved away from the Nishizumi and towards a middle-aged man in a grey business suit. She scanned him for a moment, suspicion plainly visible on her face.

"For some reason, it doesn't connect to the satellite, sir," a younger man, probably an employee of the first, explained to the business suit donning gentleman.

"Get it working, as fast as possible," the businessman said.

Maho quickly realized what was going on, but before she could act she felt a dangerous aura radiate from her seatmate. Turning at her she managed to catch a glance at the princess' expression a split-second before it changed back to its usual warmth. It was enough to send a chill down her spine. "Excuse me for a moment," Louise said with a bright smile, as if nothing had changed, and started walking towards the businessman.

* * *

Command kept scanning the hill, an activity that was starting to become boring, especially since nothing was happening. After losing a Sherman while testing the enemy, he had decided against sending any more vehicles forward. Eton's boys returned surprisingly accurate fire. He had to considere the possibility that he had underestimated their training the same way the Germans had underestimated the Soviet Union in World War 2. Movement on the hill interrupted Command's line of thought. He peered through his binoculars to identify the origin of this movement. A massive silhouette, like that of a behemoth, lumbered over the crest. The Tortoise had arrived.

"What? Shit, so fast?!" Top cried from the driver's seat. "Damn it, man, you were wrong!" By Command's calculations, they should have had more time. The Tortoise was a slow beast.

"They're early. They must have towed it…" Command mumbled. "No matter. The reserves are on the way. Let's see how their Tortoise handles our T28."

"If you lose this match, I'll have your head," Top said. There was a thick tension in the air inside the tank, and it wasn't because of the smell of sweat. Bulldog and Ace shot Command a glance. The boy didn't return it. He kept peering at the enemy, apparently unaffected by his captain's threat. Then suddenly, a devious smile appeared on his face.

* * *

"Tell the men the cavalry has arrived," Monty declared over the radio. His voice showed a surprising amount of enthusiasm, even if it was only noon, which equated to early in the morning for him.

"Finally." Wellington let out a sigh. "Let me check something before we attack."

Behind the thick armour of the Tortoise, Monty grinned. He had already taken out two enemy tanks with one shot, with indirect fire to boot, and the battle had just started. If that wasn't enough to impress royalty, nothing was. The massive vehicle came to rest on the topographic crest of the hill, in plain sight of the enemy. Its frontal armour was like a defying symbol that challenged Roosevelt to waste their ammo shooting at it.

"Monty, make sure to keep facing them," Wellington's voice came over the radio. "They can't penetrate you frontally with anything, even 90mm HVAP, but if they get a shot at your sides or rear, they'll knock you out."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you said the same thing yesterday," Monty said. He was interrupted by a sharp noise as a shell bounced off the Tortoise's superstructure. Roosevelt were sticking their heads out. "Poor sods, I'll blast you to pieces," Monty mumbled. More shots met the vehicles armour, all harmlessly ricocheting. A lucky projectile managed to pierce the gun shield, poking a hole in it, only to disintegrate in the thick ball mount behind it.

"All right, gentlemen," Wellington's voice echoed in every headset. Before he could give the order, a loud bang, louder than anything before, and closer, caught everyone's attention. A HE, 90mm probably, had exploded under the left track of the Tortoise. "Trying to detrack us, are you, Drake?" Wellington mumbled to himself. Then his eyes grew wide. He stared in awe as the behemoth slowly but steadily started moving in an unnatural direction.

"What? Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! We're going down!" Monty cried into the radio louder than he had ever done before. The small avalanche caused by Roosevelt's barrage lead to the Tortoise starting to slide off the hill. Its position to the leftmost of Eton's formation must have not been on as stable ground as Wellington had imagined. The thought of checking the integrity of the soil hadn't occurred to him, and now he regretted it. He could only stare in horror as the heavy vehicle lost its footing and rolled over, finding itself upside down at the bottom of the hill mere minutes after having arrived. The sound of the white flag popping from its belly sent a chill down the glorious strategist's spine.

Staring in utter shock, Wellington could see in his mind the smug smile he imagined Command wore and hear the boisterous, arrogant laughter in his head, scratching at his temples. Anger overtook him. He clenched his fist before grabbing the binoculars hanging around his neck and glaring through them towards Roosevelt. From atop his Sherman, Command was gazing back, although without the aid of any optical instrument, he couldn't have discerned Wellington's expression. It was the first time the two locked eyes since the official start of the match. The boy was neither grinning nor laughing. Instead, he wore the frozen stare of a man possessed, as if search his opponent's heart for fear, showing none in return.

"The first move requires no pieces. It is the look into the eyes of your opponent," Wellington mumbled before a chuckle. "Touché." Command might not have laughed aloud, but his team certainly didn't hold back. A wave of cheers and laughter echoed in the distance. Despite it, Wellington couldn't stop a smile from growing on his face, a smile that slowly turned into a grin. "He who laughs last, laughs best," he said.

* * *

The heavy tank company moved in a column towards the hill. Cowboy looked over his boys. They were all itching for a fight, just like him. In front of the column, the T28, with its thick frontal armour, made its way along the dirt road. Right behind it, Cowboy's own T30 pushed ahead, followed by the T29, T32 and T34, with the remaining three T26E5 Pershing Jumbo tanks acting as rear guard.

"Yo, so, um, Cowboy, what's our plans and shit?" a Heavy Pershing commander asked over the radio.

"Full frontal democracy!" Cowboy answer.

"Set 'em up, I'll knock 'em down!" Harbinger added.

"Cowboy, this is Command, come in," the battalion channel crackled.

"Cowboy here, I'm all ears. What can we do for you, sir?"

"About that Crusader, it will take it a while to get to us, so they shouldn't pose a threat for now, but keep your eyes open. I don't want it to surprise us from the back."

"Roger that, Command," Cowboy said. He then turned to his company. "Boys, if that turkey pops its head out, give 'em what's coming to 'em!" Just as he finished his sentence, a muffled thud rang from ahead. The T28 that was leading the convoy had vanished, swallowed whole by the ground. "What? Driver, stop!" Cowboy ordered. The boys from the T29 popped their heads out to find themselves head front into a hole, their long gun contorted by the impact. The white flag hadn't popped, but there was no way the vehicle was useable anymore. "What the hell?" Cowboy stared dumbfounded

"Err… Cowboy, what's going on?" Harbinger asked.

"Oh, horse feathers, they're onto us!" Cowboy cried, just as several large blasts echoed from the treeline. The engine deck of the T29 behind burst into flames, followed by the tell-tale pop of the deploying white flag. Another shot bounced off the side of the T30's turret. "Doggone it! They're firing at us! Shoot back!" He quickly switched to the battalion channel. "Command, they're onto us!" he cried into the radio.

"It's a trap!" Harbinger's cry came through as well.

"What?! Who?!" Command screamed. "Pacify them! At once!"

* * *

Wellington laughed under his breath – the stifled chortle of a mad scientist. That morning, minutes before Darjeeling gave Wellington Katyusha's regards, the boy was explaining Patton his plan. "The river should be shallow enough at this point. You improvise a bridge with logs. The details are on that paper. You'll break away from Darjeeling's squadron here," he said, pointing at the map. "When you're on the other side, you set up the traps on the road."

"Yes, sir," Patton whispered.

"And don't forget. Maintain radio silence."

* * *

"This is Patton. We've engaged the heavy company. Over."

Wellington was still sniggering and looking towards Roosevelt's tanks. Nothing could be the sweet feeling of seeing Command's frozen stare breakdown when he got the news. "The victorious win first and then go to war, while defeated go to war first and only then seek to win," he mumbled.

"Bloody hell? How did you do that, mate?" Richard asked, just as awestruck as the enemy. "Wasn't Patton with Darjeeling? You didn't talk about this yesterday."

"Do you think you're the only one who can send Patton in secret missions?" Wellington asked. "I pulled him aside this morning and gave him his orders. This was my final trick. I wanted to make sure there are zero chances the enemy would hear about this. It's not that I don't trust you–"

"Bloody good thinking, mate! Glad to see you still have some tricks up your sleeve."

* * *

"Peace out!" Harbinger yelled and started rotating the turret of the T30 to the right, from where the fire that glanced their turret had come. At the same time, the entire vehicle started turning in the same direction, to speed up the process of pointing the big gun at the thing it was supposed to shoot. The entire company followed suit – although, due to the Pershing lacking the ability to neutral steer, the process was hardly elegant for the rear guard.

The experimental Ts were the only tanks in Roosevelt's arsenal that could neutral steer, thanks to their General Motors CD-850 cross drive transmission. The Shermans, Pershings and the T28 Super Heavy could not perform the feat. On Eton's side, other than the Firefly, which had the same transmission as Roosevelt's Shermans, and the Crusaders, which used an old and inefficient system themselves, the Cromwell, Comet, Challenger, Black Prince and even Tortoise used the Merritt-Brown and could move their tracks in different directions, thus allowing spinning on the spot.

Cowboy scanned the treeline, trying to figure out the location of the ambushing tanks based on the flashes he had seen in the corner of his eye. He had counted two shots coming from the right flank, but heard at least once more from the left, so there were at least three enemies.

Even if everyone tried to rotate, getting into a more defensive formation wasn't an easy task. They were surrounded, and turning their face to one enemy exposed their rear to another – not that it mattered, given their armour layouts of half of the company. The big guns were the main selling point of most of the Ts, not the M26 level protection. Only the T32, Heavy Pershings and T28 could bounce 17 pounders shots, and the T28 was down already.

Cowboy kept scanning the treeline, so focused that he didn't even notice what was going on with his company. Too busy commanding his tank, he failed to give orders to the rest of the group. Still, his choice did not come without gain, as he soon spotted one of the enemy vehicles before it could fire a second time. The silhouette of a Sherman was barely distinguishable against the green and brown of the forest. It was a Firefly. "Four O'clock!" he shouted.

"Ever wondered what they're thinking out there, when we're pointing this big gun at their faces?" Harbinger asked, as the turret and hull both rotated, still struggling to align the gun with the enemy.

Cowboy hysterically punched the turret wall from the inside and cursed under his breath at how slowly they were going. The T30 wasn't exactly spry, a cost they had to pay for having the biggest gun around. Another shot could have come out any moment. Luckily, the enemy Firefly hidden between the trees was not as easy to reload as the other tanks Eton fielded.

"Identified!" Harbinger said. "Wanna give 'em the bad news?"

"Shut your pie hole and shoot!" Cowboy cried.

The 155mm L/40 T7 rifled gun roared with fury. At the last moment, Eton's Firefly backed up, trying to avoid Harbinger's shot. The shell went through a tree, ripping its trunk open, before lodging into Eton's tank, taking it out. The tree fell to the ground with a thump, just as the white flag on the Firefly popped. "Hehe, spill on aisle twelve!" Harbinger cried.

"You ain't taking this seriously! I'm fixin' tuh have a conniption fit if you don' take this seriously!" Cowboy cried. He desperately tried to find out where the other enemy tanks were hiding. Return fire was inevitable, by then. The T34 was hit, its engine choked smoke, but Cowboy saw the muzzle flash and located the Firefly. "They're over yonder! Five o'clock!" he cried.

"I got this," Harbinger said. Another 155mm roared once more, like a grizzly bear protecting cubs. The recoil sent chills of excitement running through the gunner's skin and widened his grin. The boy loved his job. A moment later, the projectile made contact, its impact so powerful that it looked like it pushed Eton's tank a few centimetres back and scared the KO flag out of its hiding place.

"No more belly aching from them!" Cowboy cried. He sighed relieved. If he counted correctly, that was the last of the Fireflies on that side of the road. He turned towards the other side, and what he saw as he did left him mute. Only then, he realized that every tank in his company, bar the T30, was knocked out. The idiots had all turned right, every single one, kindly presenting their asses to the enemy. Three Pershings, the rear guard, were puffing smoke from the engines, their white flags flapping in the wind as if part of some clichéd French army joke. Their tough frontal armour didn't help much when faced towards the enemy that never shot a single shell at them rather than the enemy that did. The only other tank still operational – the T32 – was too metaphorically holding up its shield at an enemy that was destroyed, while a sword was pointed at his back. That second, the sword struck. A whistle and a bang, and the rear of the T32 burst into flames, its frontal armour not having bounced a single shot.

"Turn right!" Cowboy cried. A second shot struck the front of their turret at a bad angle and bounced off. A lucky miss – the second one that engagement – and Cowboy didn't want to risk his luck any longer. Given how quick the second shot came, it meant that there were two more Fireflies, not one. "Get us behind some cover and let's give 'em what's coming to 'em!"

* * *

In the commander's seat of the M4A3E8, Command analysed his options. Luckily for him, Top had stopped nagging him about having not foreseen the ambush and was fiddling with his phone, or something. He couldn't quite see from his position. The boy didn't understand why anyone would even bring their smartphone to a Sensha-dou match. For one, there was the risk of breaking the fragile screen in the conundrum of a battle, and it wasn't like they had time to play on it. Using it for communication was also out of the question after the Federation arranged with every provider that had coverage on their battlefields to disallow anything but emergency calls due to an incident a while back. It was somewhat ironic, actually, since the previous year, the only reason Ooarai had become champions was because they used their cell phones to circumvent Saunders' radio tapping. Luckily for them, rules didn't apply retroactively, so they kept their title. Command could only wonder if he'd even be in the National Sensha-dou Tournament had Ooarai not won the previous year.

"Yeah, thanks, dad, I know now!" Top cried from the driver's seat, leaving Drake confused. He slammed his phone into the floor of the tank. "Couldn't get a signal? A blonde bitch prevented you from calling? Fucking excuses!" he yelled at nobody in particular.

Command's face suddenly changed as he realized what was happening. "You fool!" he cried.

Top's face became twisted by anger. "What did you call–"

"You'll get us disqualified! Satellite phones are not allowed!" Rarely did Command shout, but when he did, his deep voice resonated even more, completely overwhelming Top's. "Let's hope they won't find out," Command added after regaining his composure. He poked his head out. Wellington had gotten the drop on him. But the battle wasn't over yet.

* * *

The sensation of somebody tugging gently at his sleeve snapped Wellington out of his thought induced trance. He lowered himself back into the tank. As his eyes started to adapt to the change of brightness, he noticed Assam smiling at him from the gunner's seat. "I didn't get the chance to thank you for letting me fight in the Challenger," she said.

Wellington looked at her confused. Although he appreciated the act, and the thanks warmed him up inside, he was unable to understand why she thought that was the best moment to mention it. Women continued to be a strange and incomprehensible lot for him. The girl's gaze insisted, her smile fading slowly every second Wellington didn't answer, until the boy realized his girlfriend was becoming as confused as he was due to the silence. "Yes… err… you're welcome," Wellington finally said. "But I didn't do it because I knew the Challenger was your favourite tank or anything… It just that… err… I thought you'd be good for the job."

The girl's smile renewed. Without another word, she returned her attention to the 17 pounder. "Something's happening!" Churchill's voice came through the radio. Wellington popped his head back out. The strong light blinded him for a second until his eyes adapted back. There was movement in the enemy ranks. Roosevelt had mobilized while he wasn't paying attention. Good thing that his boys were more alert than Drake's.

Roosevelt's tanks pulled back from behind the ridge. Were they turning around? Wellington considered the possibility that they were moving in to assist the heavies. He didn't have the line of sight to confirm it, but if it was right, with a bit of luck on Command's side, and a bit of defensive manoeuvring on the heavy company's, the Sherman and Pershing tanks could arrive to assist before Patton won. Countless thoughts went through Wellington's mind in a matter of seconds. He still had the advantage on the hill, even without the Tortoise, even if the enemy managed to save some of their heavy tanks. Or did he? Given the armour on the T28, T32 and Pershing Jumbos, a direct assault by Roosevelt was viable. Wellington shook his head. He couldn't risk it. He wouldn't risk it.

"All units, advance! We're going after them. Don't let them escape."

As ordered, Eton's tanks descended from the hill, engines roaring, like a charging regiment of horse. The wind blew through Wellington's hair, making it dance wildly. He had to seize victory fast. Half-way to the bottom, the glorious strategist's jaw dropped. Sherman and Pershing turrets appeared from behind the opposing ridge. Command wasn't retreating. He was baiting them. It was a trap. Wellington panicked. He stared at the enemy dumbfounded as their tanks opened fire. In a moment, two Comets were knocked out. "By God, they've pulled a Wellington on me." Like Nay at Waterloo, he had committed too soon.

Fire came raining down on them. A shell struck next to the Challenger, sending dirt flying into Wellington's face. "Zigzag!" a voice echoed through the squadron channel. It was Churchill. Wellington instead gaped in silence as if shell-shocked, until the flood of chatter finally registered in his mind.

"Commander, what do we do?" a voice came through the radio.

"We need orders!" another cried.

Wellington gripped the handheld with all his might. His hands were shaking. "I… I don't know," he mumbled. "Bloody hell!"

"If you're going through hell, keep going," Churchill cried.

"Great, he's infected you with the plague of quotation too," Richard mumbled.

Wellington shook his head. Churchill was right. He had to keep his calm. "Smoke! Everyone put smoke and push forward!" he ordered. There was no time to pull back. "Charge!"


	80. The Battle of Bunker Hill, Part 1

A barrage of white phosphorous bombarded the ridge, obstructing Roosevelt's view – or at least half of a barrage, as the other half fell short or simply whizzed by above. Wellington struck at the turret wall with his fist. He had fallen into Drake's trap. That was the advantage Roosevelt needed.

Inside the M4A3E8, Command chuckled, his eyes fixed on the exposed tanks of Eton. His rival had surprised him, somehow getting a few tanks past the river to ambush his heavies, but Drake managed to turn the table in return. Using a strategy employed by the Duke of Wellington himself, his rival's idol, Jack Drake had gained the advantage. "Wear them out!" he ordered as the barrage continued. Eton desperately tried to use smoke to conceal their advance. It didn't matter. By the time their force got over the ridge, they'd be depleted and find it impossible to survive the melee.

A Sherman poked its head from behind the wall of fiery mist, it's 76mm M1 aimed at Wellington's tank. The boy opened his mouth to shout at Richard to evade, but before he could utter a word, a projectile impacted the Sherman, taking it out. Looking back, the glorious strategist saw the fuming barrel of the Black Prince. The slow mammoth had lost the speed it had gained during the ride down the hill, and was now lumbering at its own pace towards the enemy, behind the rest of the squadron. "Bloody great job, Sharpe!" Wellington cried. "Show them who's the real ace!"

Two more Comets fell under fire. 90mm and 76mm guns resonated in a symphony of firepower. The L/53 M3 was the most punishing opponent Wellington had to face for the moment, a heavy anti-tank gun that forgave nothing. The 76mm M1 was a dangerous foe as well. Every single weapon in Roosevelt's arsenal could kill the bulk of Eton's tanks. Luckily, the same could be said the other way around.

The first tank to reach the ridge was the Cromwell. Like a stunt car, it jumped off it as if it were a ramp, landing in the middle of Roosevelt's formation, and quickly knocked out a Pershing with a well place shot to the side of the turret. It sped up, throwing ground into the air and zigzagged between wrecked and operational enemy vehicles as the gunner waited for the 'up' confirmation. The second it came, he discharged the OQF 75mm gun into the rear of another Pershing. Two more were left. The Cromwell revved up its engine once more, in the hopes of taking out another target, but its time was up. A shot from a 76mm lodged in its side and prompted the KO flag to pop out. The boys in the Sherman all cheered for a second, until Command's voice echoed through their headsets and pulled them back to reality.

"Eyes on the ridge!" Drake was left with four Shermans and two Pershings to defend against Eton's four Comets, one Challenger and one Black Prince. The former were almost on top of his formation, and the Black Prince advanced slowly as to provide accurate support fire from a safe distance. A 76mm shell bounced off the front of its turret, right before the 17-pounder roared. The tungsten rod whizzed through the air and hit the turret of a Pershing at a critical angle, bouncing off to the right.

Eton's vehicles were close enough for the depression on Roosevelt's guns to no longer be sufficient. "All Alpha units, pull behind the ridge. Let them come to us. Bravo 6, Bravo 7, take out that Black Prince then pull back too," Command ordered.

Sharpe could see the Pershings aiming their guns at the Black Prince. He breathed out, a habit he had picked up from sharpshooting that was utterly pointless when firing a tank gun, and pulled the trigger. The immense flash of the 17-pounder wrapped around the vehicle. Sharpe closed his eyes for a split-second to avoid the blinding light, and then opened them to see the shot glance a Pershing's turret again. "Tsk." Bloody gun was no sniper. A response came immediately, announced by the muzzle flash of the M3 guns. Sharpe braced and shut his eyes tight. There was no sound. The Pershings had somehow both missed.

"Up!"

"On the way," Sharpe said. The 17-pounder roared, and just as the boy opened his eyes to track the shot, a loud bang echoed through the inside of the tank, followed by the even more shocking pop of the KO flag.

"Bloody hell, they hit the roof!" the driver cried.

Sharpe looked through the gun sight. The tungsten rod he had lobbed at the enemy was impaling a Pershing's gun mantlet, right below the white flag that was waving in the wind. "We got one too."

"Are you guys OK?" Wellington's voice came through the radio.

"We're fine, but you're on your own," Sharpe answered. "Give 'em hell."

Wellington nodded, even if nobody could see him through the radio. "Fear naught."

* * *

"I got a present for you!" Harbinger said a moment before the T7 gun kicked like a mule. The shot went straight into the upper glacis of one of Eton's last remaining two Fireflies, knocking it out instantly. The T30 had managed to hide its vulnerable hull behind the wreck of the T29, while the last Firefly in Patton's squadron had nothing but trees and foliage between it and the massive 150mm L/40 rifled gun that had it in for them.

"Load sabot!" Patton cried. Romeo was caught by surprise. He was holding an APCBC shell and dropped it to the floor before reaching for the different ammo type. The shell fell on his foot, causing him to shout in pain and jump up, only to meet the roof with his head. The loud shriek was like something out of an old Tom and Jerry cartoon, when Tom got his fingers nearly severed. "Shit, you're OK, man?" Patton asked.

Despite the tears in his eyes, the boy nodded his head. He grabbed the APDS and loaded it. "Up," he said with half a voice. Patton patted him on the back, before turning his attention back to the battle. They hadn't been spotted yet.

"Can I shoot already?" Dorian asked from the gunner's seat.

"Not yet," Patton said. "Shiro, try to give us a better angle. Move right."

"Aye aye!" the confirmation came from the driver's seat.

The tracks of the Sherman VC rolled over the dried earth and grass, bringing the vehicle cautiously into position. Patton lifted the handheld up to his mouth. "Dorian, when we stop, you can fi–" His order was interrupted by a terrifying bellow. The 150mm was saying hello. The Firefly rocked for a moment, causing Romeo to hit his head a second time and yelp in pain, before settling down, with the sound of the white flag as its last breath.

"Yippee ki-yay!" Cowboy cried his lungs out. "Yeehaw! Spark up the barbecue, we're coming home!" He poked his head out of the commander's hatch and took a deep breath. The smell of burnt propellant was still lingering in the air. He loved the smell of gunpowder in the morning. It smelled like victory. A smug smile hung his face from one ear to the other. He took off his cowboy hat and addressed his crew. "Well boys, I reckon that was it. Let's get to the–"

"Ute!" A girl's voice echoed through the forest, making Cowboy jerk his head in the direction of the shout. Eton's last Crusader had somehow materialized right behind them, its 6-pounder staring down their rear armour. Its war cry was high pitched compared to the T7 and made Cowboy's ears ring, but the sound of the KO flag triggering that came after was somehow even more unpleasant.

Cowboy dropped his hat. It floated like a feather before landing in the dirt next to the T30. After the shock passed, the confusion of the boy's face turned to disappointment. "Oohh, man!"

* * *

Back at the hill, the remaining Eton tanks descended upon Roosevelt like the charging British heavy cavalry at Waterloo, yet unlike it, they had already withstood the worst of the enemy fire and would hopefully face a better fate. Wellington had stopped his squadron just short of the ridge and had them put a good amount of smoke on it before continuing the charge, as to prevent enemy fire knocking out any more vehicles during the cresting, when the thin floor armour was exposed.

From the smoke concealed crest, they unleashed one final WP volley on the move, engulfing the remaining four Shermans and one Pershing and forcing Command to go close his hatch, before smashing into and mixing with their ranks. It was anarchy. Everyone shot blindly. A projectile bounced off the side of a Comet's turret, another glanced the top of the turret of a Sherman and flew away from the battle.

To the far left of the battlefield, the number 01 Comet, Wellington's vehicle of choice during the battle with Gordost, drove right next to the last Pershing, whose turret was struggling to align the 90 mm L/53 gun with its foe. 01 slowed to a halt and moved its own weapon towards the enemy. Its 77mm HV gun kissed the cheek of the Pershing's turret like an Italian man that hadn't seen his friend for years, but when the Pershing tried to return the gesture, it instead slapped the side of the Comet's turret with its gun. At 4.6 meters, the L/53 was longer than the 77mm HV – too long to return the kiss.

"Shiet…" the Pershing command vocalized. Just as he finished his curse, the 77mm HV boomed. The amount of RHA on the turret cheeks was not enough to stop 01's shot, so the KO flag popped from the top of turret as a snowdrop pops its head from under the snow during early spring. But it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows for 01.

"My tank!" Wellington cried. Shooting from literally a centimetre away wasn't healthy for the 77mm. It was physically impossible for the sabots to discard properly or better said, at all. The damage wasn't visible, but Wellington knew Roosevelt wasn't the only school that would have to replace a gun after the match. Still, he endured and moved on. There was still a battle to win. Hopefully, the Comet could still shoot somewhat accurately at close range. That theory couldn't be put to the test though, as a second later, a Sherman discharged a shot in the tank's engine, taking it out.

Only three of the eight Comets were still operational, and the Cromwell had been destroyed during the charge, but from the Challenger, Assam aimed at one of the remaining four Sherman's front upper glacis. From any direction, regardless of angle, the Sherman's hull armour was thin enough for a 7.7kg APCBC to penetrate. Regardless, Wellington had ordered Castus to load a sabot round, just in case. They couldn't miss at that distance. The 17-pounder fired, launching the APDS towards the enemy. The sabots were discarded shortly after leaving the barrel, allowing the sub-calibre penetrator to fly into the Sherman. The thin, long tungsten rod lodged into the metal, and immediately after, black smoke came out, followed by the tank's white flag.

Roosevelt weren't sitting on their asses, though. Top made sure to navigate between wrecks just as Richard did, putting as much metal between his Sherman and enemy guns. Inside, Command choked on cigarette smoke. Ace had burned through a whole pack since the start of the match. Normally, Drake would draw a line, but he wanted his gunner to be in top shape, and the nicotine kept him cool. Bull's job, in between loading shells, was to make sure a lit smoke was in Ace's mouth at all times.

"Up!"

"On the way," Ace mumbled. He struggled to keep the cigarette from falling every time he spoke the obligatory warning. The only reason he did it was because he was grateful to his loader friend for keeping him supplied, and didn't want to risk the boy getting hit in the face when he fired. Another puff of smoke left Ace's lungs and joined the already thick cloud inside the crew compartment. The Sherman's air cleaners couldn't keep up with his output. "Target down," Ace said the moment a Comet graciously popped the white flag after being hit by his shot. With half a breath, he took in what was left of the smoke in his mouth, before dropping it to the floor of the tank. "Keep 'em coming," he said to Bull.

"Up!" Bull said after loading the next shell. "Up," he added after placing another cigarette in his friend's mouth. Ace chuckled. While Top was repositioning the tank, he had a few seconds to light it on his own for once.

Command peered through his periscope, trying to ignore the itch of his bloodshot eyes. The smoke wasn't good for him. He coughed, his throat and lungs sore. For a second, he wondered whether it was a better idea to endure the smoke outside, but remembering the effects of Willie Pete made him reconsider. "Fuck. Sorry, man," Ace said. "I'll buy you ten fucking beers after this."

"I don't drink beer," Command said.

"Fuck. I'll buy you ten of whatever you fucking want, man. Sorry."

"Just make sure you hit the targets and we're even."

* * *

"We're down!" the last Comet announced. The words made Wellington flinch. They were the only vehicle left. The soft voice of his girlfriend was the only thing that stopped him from cursing. It came like a soft breeze and despite the noise that followed, was still enough to calm him.

"On the way," Assam said. The 17-pounder bellowed, followed by a moment of silence. "Target down," the girl added.

Wellington rotated the periscope to scan the surrounding area. In his mind, he thanked Rudolf Gundlach for coming up with the concept that ended up being used by everyone, from the Germans, to the Soviets, to the British and Americans, during World War II and decades after, until the advent of electronic devices. Through wrecks and smoke, he spotted Command's Sherman, the last one left. "This is the second time it comes down to a bloody duel," he mumbled.

"If this were played upon a stage, I could condemn it as improbable fiction," Assam said with a chuckle. Wellington smiled. It was funnier than her usual quips.

"Actually," Richard said, "just like last time, it actually do–" A loud bang interrupted the boy and made everyone's ears ring. Steam burst out of one of the components in the turret with an incessant hiss, leaking hot water in the compartment.

Assam quickly mobilized to resolve the issue. "Hydraulic traverse is out. Switching to manual," she said.

"Bloody hell, Richard, take cover!" Wellington ordered.

"We're already in cover!" Richard cried. Regardless, he pushed the levers and got the tank moving, trying to find an even better position.

"By God, can't we win a single battle without it being so close?" Wellington cried.

Sharpe chuckled. "Hah, where would be the fun in that?"


	81. The Battle of Bunker Hill, Part 2

"Are they're lobbing high explosives at us?!" Wellington cried. He jumped to his feet and popped his head out the hatch – a foolish idea given what was presumably being shot at them. Assam gasped and pulled at his sleeve, but he ignored it. The wind met his face and blew through his hair. He took a deep breath. Command was outside as well, staring back from about a hundred meters to the left. As the Challenger reversed, Wellington tried to discern how they were hit. The Sherman shouldn't have had a direct shot at them. "Bah, there's no time for this," Wellington mumbled. He scanned the surrounding area to devise an attack plan.

Roosevelt was already moving towards them. Like a wolf on the prowl, the M4 circled towards their back. Wellington guessed what Command had in mind. The Challenger was longer and its turret was positioned towards the front. Drake hoped to get in such a position as to shoot at the long rear of the vehicle. He wouldn't allow it. The neutral steer ability of the Challenger gave it an edge, and Wellington would use it to its fullest.

"Assam, you can hip fire. We have enough ammo and no time to spare," Wellington said.

"That's what you said last time," Castus mumbled.

"It will be difficult without the hydraulic system, but I'll do my best," Assam said.

"Richard, you'll try to help her by traversing the hull."

"Oh, for God sake, do I need to drift again?" Richard asked.

Wellington ignored him. "Driver, forward," he ordered. The Challenger's engine revved into action, rolling the tracks and pulling the vehicle forward. "Get us behind that Comet at eleven o'clock," Wellington said.

"Roger!"

"Gunner, start traversing left," Wellington added. Something caught his eye. The Sherman had just broken cover and was coming straight at them. Command had just thrown all caution to the wind. "Richard, hard left!" Wellington shouted. "Assam, Sherman, ten o'clock!" Given the new route of the enemy, the Challenger would be within their sights in a matter of moment. Command had once more outplayed his rival. He had anticipated that Wellington had anticipated what he would have normally done, so he did the exact opposite. Bloody Drake and his bloody mind games – either he was a master of counter-strategy or he had studied Wellington in depth – probably a combination.

Both Command and Wellington stared at each other from their open hatches. The frown on the glorious strategist's face was not mirrored on Command, whose expression was instead cold and apathetic. Wellington ground his teeth. It would be close. The Challenger desperately tried to align its gun before the Sherman finally got into a firing position. It was just like the climax of 'A New Hope', where Command's M4 was the Death Star and the Eton's tank was the rebel base – except that this time the base could shoot back if only it could get its bloody gun aligned without the hydraulic assist. "You can do it, Lily!" Wellington found himself crying without realizing it. All of his hope was placed in his girlfriend and Richard. The outcome was in their hands now, but the vehicle wasn't turning fast enough. Despite the hull and turret both rotating, the Sherman was moving faster. They wouldn't make it.

"Huzza!" Jajka's Crusader flew out of nowhere and rammed into the side of the Sherman. The force pushed it just enough for the 76mm become misaligned just as it discharged a HVAP shell that promptly glanced off the Challenger's turret side. Half a second later, the 6-pounder punched through the Sherman's turret, putting it down. The white flag came out. It was over.

* * *

"You fucking fuck!" Top shouted. He crashed his fist with fury into metal wall of the tank, a decision he immediately regretted. He winced, his anger renewed. "You were supposed to win! How the fuck could you lose against those fucks?! I'll have your head!" Everyone in the tank stood dead silent until Top reached from the driver's seat to grab Drake. He clenched his fingers into a fist, ignoring the pain of having just punched steel, but his clumsy, furious strike stopped short of Command's chest. Bull's large hand had coiled around his wrist.

"Top, please," the loader said. "He did his best."

"It wasn't enough!" Top yelled. He pulled his had away and Bull let go. "I'll punch his face in like I did with the other fucks that fucked up!"

"No," Bull said. "I won't allow it." His tone didn't show much conviction, but his tall silhouette, made all the more imposing by how large it seemed compared to the insides of the tank, was like a wall that stood in front of Drake. Top hesitated.

The tension in the crew compartment was as thick as the cloud of smoke. One could almost cut it with a knife. "Fuck! Shit! We fucking lost, fuck," Ace hissed. His almost whispered curses came off as half-hearted, especially compared to his normal temper, so fiery that it could light a cigarette. "But, fuck, it's your fault too, boss. So shut the fuck… I mean, just… leave Command alone. We share responsibility."

The resistance, as half-assed as it was, still cooled Top's head a bit. The boy couldn't believe his crew dared to go against him. He could still feel some fear in their hearts, but it took courage to stand up to him, and he could respect that. "Fine. Fuckin' hell."

As soon as Top's reply came, the tension instantly dissipated, leaving only the heat and smell of sweat mixed with burnt tobacco to fill the room. Command stared shocked into nothingness. He hadn't even realized how close he had been to enduring the captain's wrath. It was not Top's reaction that baffled him as much as the realization that he had been defeated. No matter how close the battle had gotten throughout, he had been completely focused, not allowing emotion to get the better of him. With the match finally over, the realization of defeat overwhelmed his every thought. How could he forget about the last Crusader? Such a simple mistake…

On top of the Challenger, Wellington could finally relax his tensed body. He let out a long sigh of relief. "By God, I don't think it would have been done had I not been here."

"Of course it wouldn't!" Richard cried. A moment later, he sighed as realization washed over. "You just wanted to say that, didn't you?"

Wellington looked down into the tank. Congratulations were in order. "Good job gentlemen," he said. "You too, Assam." He patted the girl on the shoulder and gave her one of his rare smiles. She put her hand on his and smiled back.

One by one, every boy and girl got out of their tanks to wait for the pickup crews to arrive. When the hatches of Command's Sherman were thrown open, a pale smoke escaped from inside, as if the ghost of the vehicle was running for the skies. Drake was coughing his lungs out. He took a deep breath of clean air and composed himself before walking to Wellington, who was in turn just getting out of his vehicle.

"A good match," he said, and offered Wellington a handshake. His rival accepted it without a second thought. "But I still don't know if you had any contingency plans."

"Beg your pardon?" Wellington said.

"You see, there is one thing that bugs me. So far, each and every one of your plans worked from the first try. You never relied on plans B. So I wonder… did you even have any plans B?"

"First of all, that's not true. I have employed on several occasions backup plans, even to the letter C. Speaking of that, I have something to do." Wellington picked up his phone and dialled a number. "You can stand down, Peter. Thank you for your help."

Drake looked confused at his rival. "What was that about?"

"I didn't want to underestimate Top's insanity, so I had my latest friend, Peter Saburov, position tanks around the borders of the battlefield, to intervene and knock out your tanks if you somehow decided to do something stupid," Wellington explained.

Command's eyes grew wide. "That's…"

"And I had Jajka ready to blow up the bridge in case you defeated my defence line in the north and tried to surround the hill. And had my boys set up traps throughout my side of the map, in case the bridge survived. That makes C."

Command burst into a round of boisterous laughter, his booming voice echoing through the armour vehicle graveyard they were in. "You are a worthy opponent, Wellington," he said after finally stifling his outburst.

"Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!" Despite her complaints, the many boys of Wellington's squadron had pulled Jajka and her crew out of their tank and were throwing them into the air, cheering. The girls struggled to keep their skirts down, but for the most part, at least one or two seemed to enjoy the glory.

Both the victors and the defeated were greeted at the spectator stands with cheers. As he got off the transport, Wellington was met, among others, by Maho Nishizumi, who approached him first. He saluted her with a simple nod. "Manstein."

The girl returned the gesture. "Congratulations on your victory," she said, not a trace of emotion on her face. "I expected nothing less from the commander that beat us."

"Thank you, Miss Nishizumi," Wellington said. "Give my regards to your mother. I hear she was less eager to watch us." For a second, the girl's face seemed to betray emotion, but Wellington couldn't discern what exactly.

Maho nodded. She threw a glance at Louise Winsor, who was chatting with Monty nearby, beaming brighter than the sun. "You should thank that one. She stopped the US Senator from tipping Roosevelt off about your surprise." Wellington raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained silent. "I should be on my way. Enjoy the celebrations," Maho added.

"I can't believe you managed to take out those tanks with indirect fire!" Louise said. Monty struggled between trying not to gape at her and hiding his blush. "It was brilliant!"

Monty could only manage a nervous chuckle. "It wasn't such a big deal. Anyone could have done it…" Despite having planned to show self-confidence, he ended up acting all modest, and technically lying in the process as well. He knew very well that the math he'd done on the fly wasn't exactly easy.

"Not bloody likely," Louise said, trying to seem angry as a tease, before letting her lips curve back into a bright smile.

"Lord Dorchester! A fine show of force," Lieutenant-Colonel Yardley said as he approached.

"Brilliant execution," Louise jumped in.

"Thank you," Wellington said. Normally his pride would have taken over, but as tired as he was, he just stood humble. The only thing he wanted at the moment was to get home and catch some sleep. He hadn't realized how heavy his eyelids were before the adrenaline started leaving his system.

"Mate, we're getting an airlift to the celebratory party," Richard interrupted.

"OK," Wellington said. Yes, he could manage one last soiree before turning into Monty. He owed it to Patton, Jajka and all of his lads and lasses. It was only through them that he had managed to achieve victory, a fact that many generals forgot. It was only through them that Eton prevailed.

* * *

_AN: It's not over yet. There's still one last chapter coming, and maybe more. Stay tuned for the epilogue and final notes._


	82. Epilogue

_AN: I kindly ask you to make sure you've read the second part of "The Battle of Bunker Hill" first. It has been posted earlier. Make sure you don't miss it._

* * *

**Celebrations 2**

Luigi Boccherini's String Quintet in E major played in the background as the guests mingled. The atmosphere was completely different from the first ball Eton had hosted. The ladies and gentlemen were no longer shyly broken up in gender based groups, and instead chatted and mixed like normal teenagers. The choice of music was hardly modern, but as old-fashioned as it all seemed, the students still enjoyed themselves, a smile present on everyone's face without exception.

At the entrance, Churchill greeted the history buffs, who had just made their appearance, all dressed for the occasion and paired up, despite of what Wellington had heard about the difficulties in their relationships. The rest of the Ooarai girls entered after them. Saori started scanning the room for somebody the moment she set foot inside, only for her face to light up the instant her gaze met Shiro's. Even Patton had managed to mingle with his idol, Yukari, who was more than happy to hear of his adventures in the Firefly. Unlike at the previous ball, however, Dorian did not look like a hawk eyeing potential prey, a miracle of Anzu's making. Instead, it was Romeo who flew from group to group, unable to make up his mind on who to give his heart to, the hopeless romantic. Gandhi was still a prisoner of music club, although playing quality music for large crowds was his dream, so, at least for the moment, he could not complain.

Sharpe and Katanako sipped on non-alcoholic champagne, looking not like Eton's top gunner and Chi-Ha-Tan's Shogun, but as a happy couple at the party. Castus and Pekoe found themselves chatting as well, even if only because their closest friends and crewmates had been already paired and they were the only ones left. The music switched to a recording, giving the orchestra a breather and just in time. Chris De Burgh's Lady in Red was like an invitation for everyone to find a pair and dance. Monty and Louise were the first to accept, setting an example for everyone. The boy couldn't get rid of the princess even if he wanted, which he did not. Nonna and Peter followed suit, the second pair to join the dancing floor. The boy definitely knew how to carry himself, and the two couples looked almost as if they were in a contest. However, the duke and the princess had an advantage in experience. Katyusha was left with Ivan, but the boy knew how to keep her happy. He was sensible enough not to try to pinch her cheeks in public, and instead joined the dance. Their difference in size was quite humorous to behold, but few could complain about their courage. Steadily, more stepped forward and the floor was filled. Only Natasha sulked in a corner with Sofia trying to comfort her. Beka chatted with Wladek who threw cautious glances at every boy that passed by. Anchovy and Pepperoni orbited around Antonescu who was more interested in finding his old childhood friend to catch up with.

Even Kuromorimine had made an appearance, albeit without the senior Nishizumi. Lieutenant-Colonel Yardley approached Maho when Erika stepped away to bring more snacks. The girl looked at the officer with her usual poker face. "Good evening, Colonel," she said.

"Are you and the girls enjoying the party?" Yardley asked.

The girl simply nodded. "Yes."

"I hear you've managed to befriend Her Royal Highness during the match," Yardley said. "You must have a good heart. The princess doesn't warm up on anybody just like that." A few moments of silence followed, leaving Maho guessing about the purpose of the conversation. "I hope you won't join the army like most of girls that study under your mother."

"No. I have the Nishizumi Style to inherit and later pass on," Maho said. "Why? There is no greater honour than to defend your country."

"Oh, my sweet summer child, you know nothing," Yardley chuckled. "Winter is coming," the man added before taking his leave. Maho didn't know what was more confusing, the fact that the grown man quoted fantasy books in a serious conversation or the hidden, macabre meaning behind them. Erika's return forced her to postpone any analysis. She chose not to let it bother her. They were at a party, after all, a place and time of joy and celebrations.

While everyone danced and chatted, Jajka stood alone in a corner. She looked lonely, despite a faint smile on her face and an expression of acceptance. Wellington considered inviting her for a dance. Assam probably wouldn't have minded since they all owed her a great debt for her accomplishments during the finals. Command approached him before he could, but not before he saw a red-haired lad he recognized from training approach her, putting his worries to rest. Roosevelt had actually accepted the invitation to the ball this time. While Top took the chance to hit on Kay with questionable results, Eton and Roosevelt's genius commanders caught up on the old times, something they hadn't gotten the opportunity to due during the tournament.

It was a miracle that the mixture of British, American and Soviet cultures didn't lead to sparks, but potential arguments weren't what was weighing on Wellington's heart. Parents had come to the ball as well, and it was unavoidable he'd meet Assam's and have to introduce her to his mother in return. He was proud of her and himself, of their relationship and their victory against all odds, yet a trickle of irrational insecurity made him hesitate. There were too many people around. For an introvert like him, being surrounded by so many eyes was draining.

"Wellington?" Assam's sweet voice snapped him out of his worry. He looked up at her and couldn't stop a smile from growing. She looked lovely in that blue dress, the same she'd wore on their first date. "Come on, I'd like to introduce you to my parents and big brother." Wellington's heart sunk. She had an older brother? That complicated things. Big brothers always were overprotective. He'd be put under terrible scrutiny, he knew it. "Are you OK?" the girl asked after seeing his reaction.

"Whoa, you're so tall, mister! _Onee-san, _your boyfriend is great!" a young voice rung from nearby. A small girl with blonde hair and striking blue eyes, like a miniature version of Darjeeling with her hair loose, stared amazed at Eton's captain. In the same group, Darjeeling and a middle-aged couple that appeared to be her parents all chuckled at the little girl's awe.

"Riko, it's good to see you've finally found someone," the woman said. Her husband had the air of a normal Japanese businessman, although the suit he donned showed that they were decently well off. The mother, however, was obviously a foreigner, either completely or in part. The blonde hair and azure eyes that she had passed down to both her daughters were a dead giveaway.

"Mother, what are you saying?" Darjeeling tried to hide her blush as discreetly as possible, only to fail completely.

"It's an honour to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Takahashi," Richard said, beaming as usual.

The whole scene gave Wellington the courage he needed. He'd meet Lily's parents, and her brother, and he'd make a good impression while at it. He took the girl's hand in his and looked her in the eyes. "I'd love to meet your family, Lily. Lead the way."

The girl beamed and pulled him into through the crowd. "By the way, my mother calls me Sayuri. It means little lily in Japanese. Just so you're not confused."

Wellington smiled. What a thoughtful girlfriend he had. He was a lucky man. "That sounds wonderful. Can't wait to meet them all," he said, and actually meant it.

* * *

**Bonus Chapter 1 – Loose Threads**

"Why did you insist we meet in person?" Wellington asked.

On the other side of the table, sipping from an ornate cup filled with tea that his host had provided, sat a middle-aged man dressed in civilian clothes. The hair on his head was showing signs of greying, but the rest of his body looked fit and he carried himself with a in a manner that betrayed he was military. "Because I'm technically not allowed to have this conversation with you," the man said. "Top is not guilty."

Wellington's eyes grew wide. "He isn't?"

"No, it was an act of terror carried out by a foreign agent… I can't give you the exact details, since it's on a need-to-know basis and I only recently needed to know myself," the man explained. "The encrypted data you sent me was cracked shortly after I found out. I read it. It adds some context that absolves them of all blame."

Wellington sat silent for a moment, staring into the dark, aromatic liquid in his own cup, as if attempting to divine knowledge from its depths. He let out a long sigh. "I guess I overestimated my opponents. I can't believe the news are right for once…" he mumbled. "Why didn't anybody claim the attack?"

Wellington looked up to find the man meet his eyes with a bleak gaze. "The world is more complicated than you think, Lord Dorchester. Enjoy your carefree life while you can. Soon, the Crown will call upon your service and you'll understand everything, but until that time…"

"An invisible war?" Wellington chuckled. "Is that why they are so desperate to recruit me?"

"Not invisible, merely imminent. And not only you. Unlike other nations, Her Majesty's government likes to be direct about its recruitment practices. We're subtle, but we don't beat around the bush. You must have noticed the increased demand for young officers. Other countries are less honourable."

"What do you mean?" Wellington asked.

"Let's just say… if you know someone you care about who practices Sensha-dou… they should be wary of army offers. Tell them to be careful. I don't know whether Japan plans to reinstate conscription or just try to be very convincing, but have them keep their eyes open." The man took one last sip from his cup and placed it on the table. The serious look in his eyes as he gazed at Wellington, paired with the severity of his situation he described was troubling to say the least. Wellington could no longer hide the concern on his face. "Make no mistake, my friend. War is coming, with all its glory, and all its horror."

* * *

**Decrypted Emails**

The password was "Topisbest"

* * *

_From: Top  
__To: Haxxor093  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

wtf have you done, you loon. you were supposed to sabotage their tanks not blow up the whole ship. youve doomed us both. theyll accuse us of terrorism

* * *

_From: Haxxor093  
__To: Top  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

Top, I know this is an encrypted channel, but try to control yourself. I haven't even boarded HMS Ark Royal. It was sunk before I could attempt the sabotage. I had nothing to do with the incident. Given this turn of events, I request we schedule a meeting at once. Since the job has not been completed, I need to return your money.

* * *

_From: Top  
__To: Haxxor093  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

waht? shit man i thought you went all alqaida on them. still, we cant risk being seen together. make a dead drop of something.

* * *

_From: Haxxor093  
__To: Top  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

Top, I would have nothing against keeping the money if you don't want them back, but it would be unprofessional. There is no reason for concern. You are panicking for nothing. Meet me at the usual spot tomorrow at five.

* * *

_From: Top  
__To: Haxxor093  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

dude, first of all im still not convinced you had nothing to do with this. for all i know you tried to sabotage and something went wrong. and if anyone intercepted our talk were doomed. you know how the nsa does things

* * *

_From: Haxxor093  
__To: Top  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

Top, I will pretend you did not make such an accusation. Do you have any idea how long it would take for anyone to crack this encryption even if they intercepted it? Centuries. Even if you were dumb enough to go against my advice and use a short password, it would still take a lot of time.

* * *

_From: Top  
__To: Haxxor093  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

i need time to tink about this. stay low

* * *

_From: Haxxor093  
__To: Top  
__Subject: RE: sabotage_

Top, you hired me. You know who I am. Don't tell me what to do. I've been in this business for too long to take advice from the likes of you. There is no reason to lay low. Other than these emails, there is no incriminatory evidence or anything at all to point to our agreement. I will give you the money back when you finally calm down. If it makes you feel any better, delete all of our messages with a file shredder to remove all traces.

* * *

_AN: So, here it is. Roosevelt aren't terrorists. Pretty much everyone I know of thought they were even before I dropped that out of context mail, so I decided to play on that opinion. Either way, the rest of the stuff Top said is true. He really didn't order any sabotage, but not because he was super proud, even if that was a factor, but because he was terrified after the Ark Royal incident, so he dropped any and all plans of sabotage on Eton. Was pretty pissed when his boys decided to act on their own and sabotage._

* * *

**Teaser - Possible things to come**

"I've decided," Wellington said. "I'm not joining the army anymore."

Assam eyes grew wide. She stared at him, a mix of confusion and surprise on her face. "But you said…"

"No. You deserve better. I'm not going to get myself killed in some godforsaken place. There are other ways to provide," Wellington said and unrolled a large paper with a myriad of pictures and lists on the desk. The thing served only to confuse the girl further. Among the many images and text, she saw the mon of the Takeda, and the picture of a strange girl with a large ribbon on her head. A long list of Cold War tankery approved armoured fighting vehicle retailers was also on the paper, as well as profiles of the members of Gordost, Roosevelt and another team called Totenkopf, that she had never heard of before. Further down, something about a British Tankery Cadet Force was mentioned and her eyes kept finding more and more details about things that were beyond her current understanding.

"What is this?" she asked.

A devious grin grew on Wellington's face, like the ones she saw him wear when he came up with an ingenious plan. "Endless possibilities," he answered.

* * *

**Final Author's Note**

_Well, there you have it. It's been quite the ride this past year and I thank you all for reading this far. This marks the technical end of Ladies, Gentlemen und Panzer._

_I say technical because the truth is that I still have some ideas I could implement. I am faced with the following choice: I can either stop here and be done with it or continue dropping the occasional bonus chapter following an irregular schedule. How do I decide what to do? Well, it's simple. I finally see how many followers I actually have._

_If the numbers are to be trusted, I supposedly have around 40 followers and 30 favourites on this story. Thing is, presuming you ladies, gentlemen and others exist and didn't somehow follow and forgot about it, you're really quiet. The forums are dead and I haven't gotten a review or any kind of feedback, bar from a couple of people I got to know better, in quite a while._

_Now, I really loved writing this, and even on the few occasions that I didn't, getting it done for the few people I knew followed got me through. I don't remember exactly when or where, but I recall someone telling me he or she hopes that this fic won't be abandoned like many are. That was when I decided I wouldn't let this story die. For that person, I decided I will take this to the end._

_Now that it's done, I find myself at a crossroad. I value feedback very much, as it shows me people are interested and gives me purpose, and I find writing without purpose to be painful. Thus, before I decide to invest more time into this story, I'd like to know exactly how many people are actually interested. **So I kindly ask you, my dear readers, to go out of your way and post a review telling me if you want this to go on.**_


	83. Bonus Chapter 1

Even if the party had barely started, Sharpe was already eager to meet his date. It was their first formal soirée together, and the people that didn't know about them yet were bound to have quite a reaction. Fifteen minutes in, Chi-Ha-Tan had not arrived and Sharpe was losing his patience – not that he'd complain to Katanako… she was the Shogun, after all. All he could do was stare at the entrance, impatiently awaiting the girl of his dreams to come in.

It was in that state that Robert Campbell, one of Sharpe's juniors, approached him. Just like everyone else, the lad wore Eton's formal red suit. Unlike everyone else, he stood out. The colour of his hair, strikingly similar to that of the suit, made the thing look peculiar, as if they extended each other. Luckily, his short, military style haircut stopped the effect from turning into a full-fledged optical illusion. He was glad to catch Sharpe away from Wellington. After blowing the gun on the commander's favourite Comet, he'd gotten quite the scolding and was actively trying to avoid the glorious strategist for the night. A new 77mm HV had to be ordered… luckily, the Federation was paying for it.

After making sure the coast was clear, Robert finally approached Sharpe. "Err… sir?"

"Just call me Sharpe," the boy said without looking. He was still wearing the same dark, 95th Rifle Regiment-like coat he had worn at the first ball Eton had thrown, when they were nothing more than an unknown newcomer.

"Sharpe… I heard you plan to join the SAS."

For a moment, the boy stopped staring at the entrance and looked his junior in the eyes. "Yes. What of it?"

"I plan too," Robert said. "Maybe… we can join together?"

"Sure, I've got nothing against it," Sharpe said. Something in the distance caught his eye. Chi-Ha-Tan had arrived at the ball and Katanako lead them into the ballroom. It was the first time Sharpe had seen her in formal attire, and the way the black and blue dress hung on her body made it difficult not to stare. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a _Yamato Nadeshiko_ to entertain," Sharpe said.

"Beg your… pardon?" The question remained unanswered as Sharpe rushed to meet his _onna bugeisha. _Robert shrugged. At least he managed to get an answer this time. Of course, that wasn't all he wanted to discuss. He wanted to ask Sharpe about how difficult it was to get in the SAS. Wellington was the only one he knew with acquaintances in the army and he wasn't an option that evening, but Robert was confident that Sharpe knew as well. He shook his head and looked around for a waiter, to grab a drink.

And then he saw her. But for the faint expression of content on her face, she looked as lonely as a cloud, gazing over the crowd from a secluded corner. The accepting smile made her all the prettier, and the dress she wore amplified every appealing curve on her body, covering just enough to not seem promiscuous and revealing just enough to catch the eye. She was Jajka, the former Grandmaster of Bonple and Eton's new light squadron commander, recruited, promoted and trained by the glorious strategist himself. He couldn't help but gape at the girl's exposed shoulders, courtesy of the strapless dress, the perfect shape of her collarbones, and a necknook that almost invited him to lie his head in it. And that was before she turned around to grab a drink, revealing that her dress was backless as well. The only think he could think of that moment was that he wanted to dance with her. Robert mustered all the courage he had and approached. With every step, he could see her better. The dark blonde hair tied in an overly complex bun left her nape uncovered. Her arms were thin like those of a girl that never spent a moment as a loader or driver. Her skin was without a single blemish. Stunning did not even begin to describe her.

Just as Robert got close, Jajka turned back around. Her gaze stopped him in his tracks, mere meters away from her. Judging from the look on her face, she didn't recognize him. From behind the perfectly applied makeup – at least as far as he could discern – Jajka eyes scanned the boy. He manned up and took another step. "Commander, will you honour me with a dance?" Jajka's eyes grew even wider. She looked around as if she wasn't sure he was talking with her. Her popularity had been hardly good at Eton, and most of the girls talked ill of her, calling her all sorts of bad names, but maybe her accomplishment during the finals turned things around, she wondered.

"Yes…" she finally spoke, after staring speechless at the boy for almost a minute. "Of course."

The two went to the dance floor. By then, there were enough couples for them to go unnoticed. Before they knew it, the music switched to a waltz. Robert hesitated for a moment, until Jajka grabbed his left hand, oblivious to his hesitation. Placing his other hand on her back came easier after that. As soon as he touched her soft skin, he felt electrified. She danced better than him, had more experience, perhaps, but he did his best to lead. Taller than the girl, he felt her breath on his neck. He fought back the impulse to move his hand lower. Time passed slowly and he enjoyed every moment, but before he knew it, the waltz was over.

The two stood in awkward silence as the orchestra prepared for the next song. "Commander!" Before the music continued, another girl approached, took Jajka's hands and shook them. It was her gunner. "Come, we get to meet the Shogun!" Before the blonde could react, her crewmate pulled her away from Robert and into the crowd, leaving the boy alone. Before losing sight of each other, the two had their gazes lock for a moment. Jajka smiled – the same bittersweet expression she wore when he first saw her at the ball, only this time with more energy. Robert didn't know if she was thankful to him for looking past the infamy or something more. What he did knew was that he wouldn't give up. He didn't believe the rumours about Jajka attempting to seduce Wellington. Her eyes hid no ulterior motives – of that much, he was certain. Any feelings she had must have been genuine. But Wellington had someone else. Jajka had no one. He wanted to fix that. He wouldn't give up.


	84. Bonus Chapter 2

Assam led Wellington through the crowd. And what a crowd it was! There were more people than the first time Eton held a ball… far more. Roosevelt couldn't have made up all the difference. Parents were now in the mix, ladies and gentlemen from all around the world. Wellington could barely see where they were going. The mass of guests was so dense that it felt as if they were in a forest. Luckily Assam seemed to know the way. After a few moments, they reached what the boy could only describe as a clearing amidst the sea of bodies, where one could finally breathe. Eton had to get a larger ballroom, he thought.

"Lord Dorchester, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person," a voice interrupted Wellington's line of thought. The boy looked up to see a middle-aged man dressed in formal attire, a bushy blonde moustache and a warm smile decorating his face. Right next to him, a younger looking Japanese woman, donning what Wellington could only describe as the fanciest kimono he'd ever seen, also curved her lips, albeit with apparently less conviction. Her eyes were just like Assam's, sharp and focused – a constant, piercing gaze that scanned Wellington. Before the boy could attempt to decipher the meaning behind the woman's visage, her husband stepped forward, grabbed Wellington's hand and shook it with vigour. "I've known your father, the former Earl. A great man… the world is a lesser place for his loss."

"Thank you," Wellington said instinctively. He gave the man a long look, trying to remember where he'd seen him before. "Lord Hayes?" The boy's face lit up with realization. He'd asked Assam her real name, but he never found out her surname. Other than that she was the daughter of an Englishman, he knew nothing about her lineage. "By God, sir… Lily didn't tell me her father was a Baron." A trickle of doubt started gripping Wellington's heart – he never was very good at sweet-talking fellow peers – but the insecurity vanished with the return of the reassuring smile on the man's face.

"Eh? Father? You never told me you knew…" Assam's eyes darted confused between the Baron and the Earl. "And… Wellington-sama… you know my father too?" The whole thing made the girl dizzy, and, after a moment, she gave up on trying to understand the situation and instead started gazing pleadingly at her boyfriend to explain.

"I… err… have heard of Lord Hayes… but I can't say I exactly know him," Wellington said.

"I had met the 10th Earl of Dorchester on a few occasions before moving to Japan," Assam's father explained. "Even heard news of his fall in the line of duty…" The man's tone turned sombre again, as did the atmosphere, if only for a moment, before he promptly switched the subject. "But let's not dwell on the past. Lord Dorchester, allow me to introduce my wife.

"Lady Hayes," Wellington nodded just as Assam's mother took a bow. "It's a pleasure."

The smile on the woman's face hadn't changed, a sign that she still had reservations about her daughter's suitor. Wellington found it ironic. He'd expected the father to be the greatest hurdle to be surpassed, not the mother – for it was fathers who were normally overprotective of their daughters… or so he had heard. "The pleasure is mine, young man," Lady Hayes said. "I couldn't wait to finally meet you in person. You seem to have gotten our daughter quite smitten."

Assam turned red at her mother's line. She almost jumped up in surprise. "Mother!" she cried, covering her face.

The woman wasn't the bit fazed by her daughter's reaction. "Sayuri is normally so quiet, but she just wouldn't stop talking about you," she said.

Wellington couldn't help but get a bit flushed himself. He felt flattered. A flicker in in Lady Hayes' eyes grabbed his attention for a split second, before he quickly dismissed it as imagination. He stifled a nervous chuckle and braced for whatever frank statements were next to come.

"Where is brother?" Assam asked after overcoming her blush.

"He went looking for you, dear," Lady Hayes said. "He'll probably come back any moment, though." Assam nodded. Confidence had returned to her smile, which, paired up with her focused gaze, gave her that sharp look Wellington loved, the one that wordlessly reassured him whenever he was in doubt. He couldn't help but stare at her for a second, his lips curved ever so slightly, until he saw Lady Hayes' eyes flicker anew. This time he was certain it wasn't his imagination, and just as he turned to meet her gaze, he noticed her expression had become more natural, her smile less forced. "Tell us a bit about yourself, Lord Dorchester," she said all of the sudden. "We've already heard Sayuri's side."

The request struck Wellington in the heart like an arrow from an English longbow, or perhaps a _daikyuu_, given the ethnicity of the archer. He stifled a chuckle as his mind scrambled for an answer. _I'm a man's man, a courageous man, who's not afraid to look the enemy straight in the eye… through the commander's sight of a Challenger 2 from five kilometres away, behind one meter of Chobham armour_, the boy thought of saying. No, that wouldn't have worked. The lady expected a serious answer. But stating the obvious was not a solution either. Surely Assam's parent's had researched him… Perhaps something in between? _Jack of all trades, master of some, connoisseur and enthusiast of many things, tank commander, tactician and strategist, shadow king of Eton, gentleman and at your service. _Still too goofy, he thought.

Time was running out. He could postpone with a bad smile for only so long. "Err… I like quoting Sun Tzu and Arthur Wellesley…" the boy finally spoke, one failed attempt before giving up. "I don't know… I'm not exactly a natural speaker."

"But you gave such a rousing speech before going into battle," Lady Hayes said.

Wellington rubbed his forehead, as if to shoo some sudden headache. "Just a few words… and you have no idea how difficult that was anyway…"

Lady Hayes giggled at the boy's words. "No wonder our daughter fancies you," she said.

Confused by the woman's statement, Wellington opened his mouth to inquire, but before he could ask for clarification, a fifth actor entered the stage. "You must be Wellington!" the young lad said. "You better treat my sister well, or you're going to have a bad time, sir," he added before the glorious strategist could even react.

"Actually, it's _my lord_," Assam interrupted. The lad was her brother, that much was obvious, though it took a few moments for the thought to register on Wellington's mind. He didn't look much like Assam, who took after her father, instead sharing the darker hair colour and texture with his mother. The Asian heritage of the siblings was far more visible on his face. His speech, however, suggested a strong British influence in the enunciation, and even the accent, as if he'd only listened to his father speak since the day he was born. Despite that, he was obviously more akin to his mother in their defending of Assam. Compared to Lady Hayes, though, the lad lacked subtlety… so much so that even Wellington noted it.

"Stay out of this, Lily," the young man said.

However, Assam would have none of it. She stepped towards him and stared him down with a frown Wellington had never before seen on her face. "Brother, you're being overprotective," she said, her lips almost in a pout. The intervention had little effect, though – her brother's attention continued to be direct at Wellington.

"The last guy who hit on my sister with ulterior motives got what was coming to him," the boy said.

Assam gasped, a mix of confusion and surprise taking over her expression. "Excuse me? I… But… nobody…"

"Because I shooed him away before he could try to work his charms on you," the young man explained. "Trust me, he wasn't worthy. This one here looks more promising…" he reluctantly noted. "Though I still have to warn him to treat you well."

Assam crossed her arms and looked away. "Hmph," she snorted.

Compared to the previous act, this was more effective against her brother than one would have expected, for whatever reason. But Wellington was not interested in why. Something else had piqued his curiosity. He took a step towards Assam's brother. "Who was this… previous suitor, and what were his circumstances, if I might ask?"

"About a year ago, when we visited Britain… one Viscount Hawkedon, I believe."

"By God, George Arthur Edwards?" A sudden flash of surprise lit Wellington's face and the conversation degenerated into a rapid exchange that anyone, except perhaps Lord Hayes, would have had issues following. "He's an unscrupulous player!"

"I was certain he bore ill will."

"Yes, he probably did."

"Appeared the promiscuous sort."

"Frightfully so!"

"Yes?"

"I would go as far as to call him a man-whore."

"Blimey!"

"You did well to keep him away from your sister."

"I'm glad you agree. Thank you."

"No no, thank _you_."

The two boys both nodded at each other, in smug satisfaction over their agreement. "Well, I'm glad to see you're such a decent chap," Assam's brother said. "I do believe we'll get along great, after all."

* * *

_AN: Long time no see, my dear readers. It's been awhile since I formally ended the story, but I did promise I'd occasionally post bonus chapters if I get the time and inspiration. Darjeeling's family had been introduced, but not Assam's, and I had some ideas about how her family would be and recently I finally found the time to write about it. Hope you enjoyed._

_On the other hand, I had another idea that might be interesting. If any of you is interested, post one or more questions you'd like to address to the some of the characters and I'll write a response from them. For example: "Richard, Wellington, Castus, Sharpe, which tank do you chaps prefer?" Stuff like that… well, any question really. Doesn't have to be about tanks. The choice is yours. I look forward to your questions, if you can come up with any._


	85. UPDATE 6?

_Hello everyone. Long time no see. It's been a while and I have been taking a break from Garupan, but I'm back with some things for whoever is still interested in this fic of mine. Here are the news:_

_A new bonus chapter is coming up. I've been working on it for a while but it's been slow now that I've lost my momentum and have been more busy with my job._

_I'm going to start a re-read and improvement of the entire fic to apply the literary lessons I've learned the past years to the older chapters as well. If you ever felt like re-reading everything or just want to pick it up now (though if the latter, why are you here?) now is the time. I'll mark the updated chapters with an Author's Note (AN) at the beginning._

_I've never asked for this before, but if you like my fic enough, you can show your appreciation by favouring and subscribing. The latter would help you out by making sure you don't miss any updates, and the former would help me out by making me feel nice and appreciated :P_

_And as to not make this update feel too short, here's a the unofficial theme song list I've complied:_

* * *

# The Definite Theme Song Guide

### Beka

1\. Katy Perry - Roar - "Lauder than a lion" refers to Richard. Beka is the tiger.

### Nonna x Peter

1\. Demi Lovato - Heart Attack

### Richard x Darjeeling

1\. Seal - Kiss From A Rose

2\. Bryan Adams - Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman?

3\. Chris De Burgh - LADY IN RED

4\. Michael Bolton - When a man loves a woman - You should know by now that Richard is a very pasional chap, to a flaw I'd argue.

### Jajka

1\. Avril Lavigne - Girlfriend - Dedicated to Wellington x Assam, maybe? Not sure, thought it was funny.

2\. Sabaton - Winged Hussars - The Grandmaster!

### Katanako

1\. The Might of the Empire (From the Red Alert 3 OST) - The Shogun!

2\. BABYMETAL - MEGITSUNE - My version of Chi-Ha-Tan.

### Wellington x Assam

1\. Ashley Tisdale - Kiss the Girl

### Castus/Gendou and angry Richard?

1\. Papa Roach - Kick in the Teeth

### Badass music for Peter Saburov?

1\. Starcraft Aria

### Wellington

1\. Fall Out Boy - Centuries

### Richard

1\. ONE OK ROCK - Sonzai Shoumei - The Lion!

2\. Skillet - Monster - The Demon! A bit cliched, perhaps?

### Roosevelt

1\. Drowning Pool - Bodies

2\. Dope - Die motherfucker die

3\. Ram Jam - Black Betty / Spiderbait - Black Betty - This one will make an appearance in the next chapter

### Eton

1\. Mozart - Requiem, Dies Irae

2\. HM Royal Marines - Rule, Britannia!

3\. Gloriana's British Grenadiers Theme - post merger

### Gordost

1\. Soviet March (From the Red Alert 3 OST)

2\. Celebrations (From the Red Alert 3 OST)

3\. National Anthem of USSR - Of course!

## Others/Sabaton

1\. Sabaton - 40 to 1 - Wladek

2\. Sabaton - Night Witches - Natasha and Sofia and their Night Witches Gordost girls-only club


	86. Bonus Chapter 3, Part 1

_AN: Just to refresh your memory: Erika is Keitel and Maho is Manstein. Katyusha is Napoleon and Nonna is Ney._

* * *

Every six seconds, on the clock, a loud bang reverberated through the air at Eton's outdoor firing range. Sharpe stood upright as he shot at a small cardboard target around thirty meters downrange, near the edge of the ship. The hearing protection he used prevented the sharp report of his rifle from harming his ears, but it also isolated him from the world around, and despite the utter silence that followed each methodical shot, he failed the notice Richard's approach. After every shot, he opened the breech, rotated the gun upside down so the spent case would fall out, put another round in, closed the breech, cocked the hammer, aimed and fired again. Richard recognized the weapon. It was a British Snider–Enfield. Sharpe loved to collect antique guns like it.

After a few more shots, the ringing in the blond's ears became unbearable, so he stepped forward to get Sharpe's attention, preferably without startling him.

"Hey," the gunner said when he finally noticed his friend in the corner of the eye.

"Hello, mate." Richard looked down the range at the targets and noticed something peculiar. There were far fewer holes in the cardboard than Sharpe had fired shots. "Your accuracy seems to be worse than usual…"

"Not my fault," Sharpe said. "That's what you get by firing point 575 bullets with a point 577 rifled musket. A sub-calibre, hollow base bullet trying to expand out of a casing and into the rifling just doesn't work that well. That's what you get for shooting Civil War bullets in a Snider."

"Why not shoot a bigger bullet?"

"I have groove diameter bullets. I normally shoot those…" Sharpe let out a sigh. "It's a long story. You see, I don't have the funds to buy the purpose made casings or manufactured ammunition available on the market, so I make my own, out of 24 gauge brass shot shells."

"That… sounds complicated."

"Thing is, the larger calibre bullet will not fit into a new brass, so I have to fireform them."

"Which means shooting the smaller calibre bullets out of them first, right?"

Sharpe nodded.

A grin grew on Richard's face. "Now that you told me all this, guess what everyone will get you for your next birthday."

Sharpe chuckled. "That… would be bloody awesome."

"Well, when you finish here, drop by the garages. I'd like to take the Comet for a spin to make sure everything's fine before tomorrow's friendly match, and it'd be great if you checked out the gun and sights while we're at it."

"Yeah, sure…" Sharpe said. "Did Wellington put you to this?"

"No. This was my idea. When I asked our glorious strategist about it, he said he'd let me handle it all for once."

Sharpe shrugged. Maybe Wellington had finally gotten tired of micromanaging everything like he'd done during the tournament. "Didn't you hate the driver's hatch on the Comet? I'm surprised you didn't pick the Cromwell if Wellington put you in charge."

Richard's smile faded a bit. "I'll bear it for the sake of victory."

* * *

"Why did you bring me here?" Jajka subtly moved closer to Wellington and asked him in the most inconspicuous way she could. Having just whispered in his ear, when he turned to answer, the girl found herself a few centimetres away from his face. She backed up instantly and looked away.

For the next second, Wellington watched as, every few moments, she would lift her eyes, meet his, then proceed to immediately avoid his gaze. An inward chuckle tickled the corners of his mind. Not long before it would have been him who got flustered, not her. It was amazing how much having a girlfriend had changed him. Alternatively, the intimidating presence of the Russian lads in the room had turned her from a tease into a shrinking violet. Either way, it saved him some trouble. "On a whim," he said. "Nobody else was available and I was tired of visiting Gordost alone."

"My sisters want to participate, so we'll bring at least one BT-8," Peter said. "What will you bring?"

Wellington didn't answer at once, instead electing to take a first sip from the tea Natasha had brought, supposedly made by the girl herself. It took a bit of will to fight back the wince. He didn't expect the tea to be extraordinary, but neither did he anticipate it would be so bitter – astringent to the point of making his tongue curdle. "I'll probably command a Comet. Jajka will get her Crusader, Darjeeling said she never wants to drive another Firefly again, so I guess another Comet for her, and… we'll see who else wants to join the fun." He took another sip. Actually wasn't so bad after the initial shock – abysmal compared to what Richard or his maid brewed, far inferior to what Gloriana had, and even worse than what he'd been served at Pravda, but somehow drinkable. From across the table, Natasha stared at him. Luckily, his poker face was perfect that day.

"_Starshaya sestra _Sofia, bring us some vodka!" Ivan called.

_"Nyet, _no vodka. I'll bring _kompot,"_ the girl answered calmly and got up from the table.

_"Chto?_ Err… what about soda?_ Pozhaluysta?"_

_"Nyet! Kompot!" _Sofia said, with more conviction, and closed the door behind her, leaving Ivan without an opportunity to retort.

_"Uvy, _Sofia, sometime you meaner than _babushka..." _The boy scratched his head and looked nervously at the guests, his eyes almost apologetic.

Wellington was actually relieved he didn't have to drink with a Russian. He'd heard about their tolerance to alcohol. "You _are _Russian, right?" he turned to Peter and asked. "Eggs over there was asking me this morning whether or not you're just pretending like Napoleon and Ney," he said, pointing at Jajka. The girl flinched, and, for the few seconds of silence before Peter's reply, did her best not to let her embarrassment show.

It took a second for Peter to realize who Wellington was talking about. His former rival's insistence to use nicknames proved troublesome at times. "And why didn't you tell her?" the boy asked. "Surely you researched us before our fight. What was that saying of yours? Know the enemy…"

"And know yourself," Wellington said. "Not mine. Sun Tzu's. Well, I thought it'd be best if she heard it from the horse's mouth. Or in this case, from the bear's…" he chuckled.

"Yes, very funny," Peter said, unimpressed. "So, what do you have in mind for tomorrow?"

Wellington shrugged.

"You look like your narcoleptic junior. What's wrong with you today?" Peter asked. Wellington burst into laughter. Good thing he didn't have any tea in his mouth. Not even Jajka could hold back the giggles. "That's better," Peter added.

After regaining his composure, Wellington let out a short sigh. "That's a new one. Monty has to hear it." Confident that no other joke would come for a few minutes, he drank the rest of the tea in his cup. "What makes you think I have anything in mind?"

"Don't tell me you're out of ideas."

"Maybe I am…" Wellington stared into his cup as if he was trying to divine the future from the leftover particles of tea. After a few moments, he looked up, giving Peter a stoic stare – eyes half closed, an expression of pure apathy on his face. The Saburov wondered what game his former rival was playing. Had the tournament burned him out?

"I don't think we even need a surprise to win." All eyes turned to Jajka. She gulped. Realization crept into her mind. Perhaps trying to play Blucher to Wellington's… well, Wellington – to help him out against Peter's bombardment of questions – had not been such a great idea. Just like Poland was afraid of Russia, so did she felt intimidated by the tall and scary looking lads of Gordost. The girls she could handle, but the boys… No, that was nonsense! She was the Grandmaster, not some shy little girl. What had gotten into her the past month? She had no trouble holding her own in front of men and women alike. Her gaze sharpened, her confidence restored, Jajka took a deep breath and continued. "What will we face? Shermans from Saunders, a bunch of T-34 tanks from Pravda? Other than Kuromorimine, no enemy poses a threat. Surely we have better things to do than worry about tomorrow's friendly match."

Wellington chuckled. Ivan and Natasha nodded. Peter remained silent, studying the girl for a few moments. She returned the gaze, staring into his dark blue eyes. Ultimately, the boy joined Wellington's chortling. "Hah, true enough. Pity, though – I wanted to see you pull off another devious trick like you did with the Americans."

"Don't tell this to anyone, but I was afraid Command would read through the river move," Wellington said. "Had he done so, we would have been decisively defeated."

"About that… I half expected you to burn down the forest."

Wellington's expression turned serious. "It actually did occur to me to blow up both bridges once Roosevelt's tanks moved in, and set the forest ablaze, but no matter how we did the math, there was a ten percent chance of someone getting hurt," he said. "The alternative would have been to blow only their bridge, and use the inferno to flush them into our cone of fire, but that only lowered the risk to five percent." He took a deep breath. "It was unacceptably high."

"Five percent?! Unacceptable? Then what was the chance of someone getting hurt from an avalanche?" Peter's asked, with stifled laughter and a dumbfounded look.

"Point four percent," Wellington said. He folded his hands and rested his face against them. "Sadly, we miscalculated the volume of rain, and the real percentage was double that," he mumbled through his fingers.

"Point eight percent?" Peter asked.

"Yes, I draw the line at half a percent."

Peter's stifled laughter betrayed a mix of surprise and disbelief. "Don't tell me you're actually a softie."

A sarcastic smile grew on the glorious strategist face. "Is it that hard to believe?"

"You sure you didn't do it to avoid the popular backlash from the faint of heart?" Peter asked.

"Do I look like I give a shit about what people think?" Wellington said.

Peter shrugged. "I don't know, _chuvak._ I learn something new about you every time you visit."

"Don't fight an enemy too often, lest you teach him all your art of war," Wellington said. "Now I learn that also applies to befriending a rival." Peter remained silent. "Eh, but these visits are worth it."

* * *

"Gunner, sabot, tank, straight ahead, one thousand five hundred."

"Up!"

"I see 'em."

A few moments of silence passed as Wellington stared through his binoculars. Kuromorimine's Panthers were nicely lined up – like fish in a barrel. From atop the hill, he could take out at least two before they fired back… all three if he was lucky. He wasn't about to put faith in luck, though, especially with the ammo he was about to use.

"I said identified!" Sharpe insisted. "Do I open fire or what?"

"Negative. Stand by." Wellington put down his binoculars and grabbed the radio. "This is Red One to Blue One, come in, over."

"Blue One 'ere, what's cookin'?" Cowboy's voice, so thickly accented that it appeared to be a parody of itself, came over the radio waves. Wellington could barely discern the words over the chatter of the M4's crew in the background. "Settle down boys, the limeys need our help."

Even though he couldn't stop a frown from forming on his brow, the 'limey' chose to ignore his comrade's comment. "Kindly direct your attention to the Jerry vehicles on your left, over."

"Willco!" Cowboy said. Some more moments of silence passed. "We got Fritz in our sights. Tell us when to shoot."

"Blue One, take the Panther on the right. Fire on our lead, out," Wellington said in the B-set, before switching to the intercom, "Gunner, leftmost Panther, one thousand meters."

"Target locked."

"You sure we can pen it?" Richard asked.

"Short answer: yes," Wellington answered.

"And the long answer?" Richard asked.

Wellington sighed. "We are well within the range where our APDS can pen the upper glacis. Plus, we'll hit it from above." He switched to the A-set. "Oi, Monty, we're a thousand meters away, and about a hundred meters above. What angle are we going to hit at?"

"You don't have to ask him, I can do the math myself," Richard interrupted. "It's arccosine of…" He pondered for a moment. "I don't know, approximately five degrees?"

"Five point seven, to be more exact," Monty said.

"Yes, but you didn't take the ballistic arc into account," Wellington said.

"Meh," Monty mumbled. "You didn't ask for it. Besides, I only know the arc on the Tortoise."

"Well, I've done the research. At this range, it's about twenty degrees," Wellington said.

"Oh, for God sake, enough with the bloody chatter. Give me the bloody command already!" Sharpe cried.

"Ahem, sorry," Wellington said. "Gunner, fire at will."

"On the way!" Sharpe yelled in frustration. Just as he vocalized the final letter, the Comet's gun spat out a tungsten slug. The chunk of carbide left the embrace of the sabot and charged towards the upper front plate of the leftmost Panther at supersonic speed. Wellington tracked it as it went over and to the left, missing the target completely. "Bloody hell," he mumbled. "Even the Comet sucks at this range?" A fraction of a second later, another gun blast echoed in the distance. Their M4A3E8 ally had probably lobbed an APCBC or APCR at the Panthers as well.

"Up!" Castus cried.

Wellington stared through the binoculars, trying to figure out what corrections to give his gunner, when something caught his eye. "What the… Cease fire!" The Sherman's shot had been more successful in its attempt to knock out the enemy – the rightmost Panther's white flag was flapping in the wind – but it was something else that dropped his jaw. "Are those… flames?" The leftmost Panther, the one they'd just missed, was puffing black smoke from the rear, a shy fire flickering behind the black clouds.

"How'd you do that?" came Cowboy's voice from the radio, followed by a sly remark from his gunner.

"Shit's on fire, yo!"

The crew should have been safe, protected by a firewall from the engine, so Wellington allowed himself a short chuckle. He watched as the girls bailed out and ran away. The last tank tried to manoeuvre away from its knocked out siblings, a questionable tactical choice, as it meant abandoning the protection the wrecks offered its sides. To top it off, as the glorious strategist waited for Cowboy to deliver the killer blow, the last Panther decided to neutral steer towards the M4, nicely exposing their side to his Comet, as if they didn't even know he was there. Of course, that wasn't as problematic as the fact that the Panzerkampfwagen V was a unique piece of machinery that had to sacrifice its own life to pivot in place. As expected, as soon as the tank started the manoeuvre, it broke down, prompting one last white flag to pop out.

Cowboy's radio was still transmitting, allowing a plethora of comments to flow from his gunner. "Hans, ze transmission broke!"

"Saddest story in four words," Cowboy added.

"Sadder than a Nazi stompin' on a puppy."

"The crew must be made out of freshmen. Keitel's gonna have their heads for that," Wellington mumbled. "Well, that was fun. Richard, could I bother you for some tea?"

"Aye, mate, coming right up," the driver said and started up the VBE No. 3 – Vessel Boiling Electric. Even if it was a post war gadget, Eton didn't find it too difficult to convince the Federation to allow its installation. After all, nobody sane got between a Briton and their tea. Normally, the device would have been installed in the turret, but Richard was the best of the crew when it came to brewing a delicious cuppa, so they had it installed to his left, in the hull gunner's position.

"So, what now?" After having sat in disinterested silence in the M4's driver's seat for most of the match, Top finally used the otherwise pointless radio transmitter he had next to his driver's seat to butt in on the channel.

Wellington's response came with just as much enthusiasm, or lack thereof. "Excuse me?"

"We have a division worth of panzers coming our way. What now?"

"Five Panzers are hardly a division, mate," Richard mumbled.

"I don't know," Wellington answered, more interested in his tea than the current state of events.

"What do you mean you don't know? What's the plan?" Top cried, more furious by the moment.

"No plan," Wellington said, then looked down into the Comet. "Is the tea ready?"

"Just poured it into the mugs. Four minutes."

With a gleeful smile on his face, Wellington lifted the microphone back to his lips. "So, chaps, anybody want a cuppa?"

"I ain't drinkin' that shit. Gimme a beer!" Cowboy cried.

"Oh, you mean that piss you have in the states?" Richard mumbled.

"I heard that! Them's fightin' words!" Cowboy cried.

"No plan?! What did you do last night? With Command stateside, you were supposed to be in charge of the planning!"

"I slept, Top – a luxury I only started affording myself after beating your ass."

"Fuck, so now what, we sit on our asses and hope to hold them here?"

"Something like that."

"Shit, if only the damn commies didn't all get knocked out!"

A short shriek came through the radio – _"Idi nahui!" _– followed by Sofia's scolding.

"Natashenka!"

"Tea's ready," Richard announced, and handed everyone their mugs.

"You can thank the 'commies' for chasing the Panthers around until they broke down," Wellington said. "Maybe we'll be lucky and the Tigers will throw in the towel as well."

As if on cue, enemy tanks appeared on the horizon. Wellington sipped from his mug as Manstein's Tiger I and four Tiger II tanks, one of which commanded by Keitel, drove towards them from the distance. Indifference was the dominant feeling in the boy's heart – a pleasant change from the stress of the past months. He let out a sigh and took another sip of tea. He'd accepted defeat... Yes, he'd allow them victory that once, he thought, before chuckling at his own arrogance – as if he had any other choice. Maybe they could try to knock out Manstein's Tiger from the front, just for giggles. He let out another sigh and took an even more relaxed stance in the commander's seat. Well, it was worth a try, he thought, though he wouldn't hold it against his crew if they didn't succeed.

And then the Winged Hussars arrived.

From atop a hill flanking the advancing enemies on the right, a lone Crusader popped its head. "Charge!" Jajka's voice came booming over the radio waves, as if she'd accidentally used her B-set instead of the intercom. No, it was on purpose. It was definitely on purpose.

Wellington almost choked on his tea. "Bloody hell?"

"Twenty quid says she deserted from the other battle just to pull this off," Sharpe said.

"That girl really ought to stop trying to impress you, mate," said Richard.

Wellington shook his head. "I'm pretty sure it's gone beyond that." He gulped down the rest of his tea and slapped the top of the turret twice. "Hustle up, chaps! We can still win this." The boy's competitive instincts had gone into overdrive. "Or at the very least, I want to mount a Tiger head on my wall."

"Always wanted to knock out a Tiger," Sharpe said. "It will look great on the list next to the Maus."

"Hey, what's happenin' over yonder?" a radio message from Cowboy interrupted. "Is that looker one of yours?"

"I'm amazed you don't recognise her after what she did to you in the finals," Wellington responded. "Anyway, she might have just turned the tide. Engage at will. Over."

"Wilco. Blue One out!" Cowboy said and switched back to the intercom.

"Yo, how 'bout we put on some music? This tank has speakers on the engine deck, right?" the gunner asked.

Cowboy took a deep breath. "Harbinger… that idea is better than all git-out! Top, any preferences?"

"Gunner, AP, Tiger I, straight ahead, one thousand," Wellington ordered.

"Up!"

"Do you hear that?" Richard asked as what sounded like some sort of electric banjo came from the M4's position, before an obvious electric guitar and drums kicked in. "Is that…"

_Whoa Black Betty, bam-ba-lam!  
__Yeah Black Betty, bam-ba-lam!  
__Black Betty had a child, bam-ba-lam!  
__Damn thing gone wild, bam-ba-lam!_

"You've got to be kidding me," Wellington mumbled.

"Well, at least they switched things up since last time. Anything's better than the clichéd, edgy metal of the early two thousands that they play to US soldiers to help them channel their rage."

"That was… an oddly detailed description…" Wellington mumbled.

Sharpe let out a short sigh. "Leave it to the yanks to strap expensive sound system on the outside of their tanks."

"Whatever, fire at will!"

"On the way!"

Meanwhile, the Crusader had charged down the hill, shooting like crazy. One shell had found its way straight into the engine of a Tiger II, two others missed, and before the fourth, the Winged Hussar found itself inside the enemy formation, behind them.

"Gunner, traverse right! Traverse right!" Erika yelled. The 70 metric ton beast struggled to turn its head towards the enemy. Traversing the hull as well would have accelerated the process, but unlike the inexperienced Panther commander, Erika knew that exposing her sides, even to an enemy a kilometre away, was not a good idea. The KwK 43 was almost aligned with the Crusader when it unloaded a 6 pounder shell into the engine compartment of the big cat. A second later, the Winged Hussar burst into smoke itself, taken out by Maho's Tiger 212.

"They're down two tanks!" Wellington cried through the B-set, before repeating through the intercom. "Two Tigers in a Crusader… that trumps even what the yanks pulled off with an M8 at Saint Vith. By God, Jajka, you have the luck of the devil…"

"Give me the correction already!" Sharpe said. His first shot had been unsuccessful, but he was confident the next would hit the mark, if only his commander would do his job instead of aweing at the Leeroy Jenkins act of the wannabe Hussar.

"I thought I did… Over. Drop three hundred. Fire!" Wellington ordered.

"Pff, finally. On the way!"

The Tiger I was the only target the Comet could reliably penetrate at that range. Its flat surface was begging to be hit. Normally, the sensible thing to do with armour was to give it a slope – not only did that increase protection due to increased LOS thickness, but was also super effective at deflecting WW2 AP projectiles, to the point where a piece of RHA at 60 degrees would be thrice as effective despite being only twice as thick. This trick was used by the Panther to make its frontal upper glacis almost impervious to ordinary AP fire. That was why Wellington had lobbed APDS at it. Tungsten slugs were less affected by sloping. Sadly, even when shot from the Comet's 77mm HV, they weren't exactly accurate, and the Firefly's 17-pounder was even worse. It couldn't hit much past 500 meters with APDS. APCBC shells, in comparison, were less powerful but more precise, and since the Tiger's front glacis wasn't sloped, they were the ideal choice for the situation – accurate enough to pull off the shot, but still capable of penetrating from over two kilometres away.

This time, the Comet's shell fell short. It hit so close to the Tiger that it bounced from the ground and went beneath it. Coming out the other side, it skimmed the dirt a few more times before vanishing over the horizon.

"Bloody hell!" Wellington cried.

"Doggone it! They got us!" Cowboy yelled, followed by another shout from Top.

"Fuck!"

"Short. Add one hundred. Fire!"

"Up!"

"On the way!"

The Comet's gun discharged again. Wellington tracked the tracer as it flew towards the Tiger. A flash! The Tiger fired back, moments before the Comet's shell connected. "A hit! We hit!" The Tiger's white flag popped. A shocking tremor rocked the Comet. "We're hit!" The Comet's white flag popped.

"Ah, bollocks! They hit on their first try!" Sharpe cried. "Lucky bastards!"

"We already spent all our luck during the tournament," Richard said.

Wellington started chuckling, and after a moment, broke down into laughter. "Haha, we got ourselves a Tiger to mount on the wall."

* * *

"We had confirmation you were all dead! How did you escape?!" Erika shouted and stomped her foot. Everyone half expected her to grab her cap and stamp on it as if in a Disney cartoon.

Top, on the other hand, had somehow gotten over the defeat, or at least didn't feel like punching Wellington for the moment, but the girl with the bleached hair got on his nerves. "Calm your tits, blondie!" he snapped.

"Don't call me blondie!" Erika cried.

"Top, show Keitel some respect," Wellington said.

"Shut yo pie hole, Brit! You cost us the battle!"

"Don't call me Keitel!"

"Guys, guys, please." Richard stepped in to try to calm the crowd, armed with nothing but a smile and hope, if you didn't count his charisma. As mostly everyone's attention turned to him, Maho approached Wellington.

"The match was too short. You weren't even trying," the girl said in her usual calm monotone.

In comparison, Wellington was a fair bit livelier. "Excuse me? We took out twice our weight in vehicles! I'd say that's pretty good for improvisation."

"Try harder next time. I want to defeat you at your best," Maho said.

Wellington chuckled. "Will do, Manstein. Will do."

After a few moments, Gordost and Saunders' crews made their appearance. Maho had led the Sauders-Kuromorimine-Pravda team, while Wellington had technically been put in charge of the Roosevelt-Gordost-Eton team, although he hadn't really done anything other than some minor coordinating. The Saburov siblings were the first make their presence known.

Natasha hadn't gotten over Top's insult, that much was obvious from her gaze, but it was Ivan who spoke before everyone else. "It was good practice match," he said, seemingly to nobody in particular. "Next time, we play for keeps."

"I'd forgotten how terrible the T-34 was in comparison to the T-44," Peter said. "Why did we go easy on them? It's not like they didn't bring out their big cats…"

"Hey! That was the most fun I've had in ages!" Kay cried with the same brilliant smile she always wore. "We totally have to have an after battle party!"

"Fuck yeah! Beer!" Top cried. Though Wellington questioned whether his change of mood was caused by the proposal or the proposer.

_"Da! Vodka!"_ Ivan added, only to be cut off by Sofia a moment later.

_"Nyet, kompot!"_

"Sofia!" Ivan cried in dismay.

"It your fault _babushka _sent us so much! Why did you ask for hundred litres?"

Completely defeated, Ivan smiled nervously. _"Kompot_ it is, then."

* * *

_AN: Part of this is dedicated to Luca29, for actually asking a question. One question was not enough for an interview style chapter, so I just answered it the good old fashioned way. Hope you and the other readers enjoyed. P.S. Luca, if you want to chat, I'd recommend making a account as I have no means of contacting my guest reviewers (those without accounts)._

_Stay tuned for part 2 and…_

**_Happy Easter, everyone!_**


	87. Bonus Chapter 3, Part 2

_AN: Sadly, for various reasons, I haven't managed to bring part two of this bonus chapter to the level I had originally aimed for, but I've decided to drop here some of the parts that I did manage to finish and that I consider too important to never share. First two parts have nothing to do with part 1 of this chapter. The rest (before, at, and after the party) are the actual continuation. Hope you'll enjoy._

* * *

_A speech that Peter would probably give to his crews if they ever faced Kuromorimine (or any other German themed school) in battle:_

"The enemy thinks they intimidate us, that they are our superiors, be it in tanks, crews or tactics. They are wrong. We are not the Soviet Union of 1941 – weakened and unprepared. No, we are the Red Army of 1945, liberators or Romania, Saviours of Eastern Europe and conquerors of Berlin. We are the guards of Zhukov. We are the elite soldiers of Russia. Their Krupp steel will crumble before our guns. Let us remind them how it felt to be a German soldier on the Eastern Front. They shall fear us… and we will bury them."

_Then he'd blast Aetero Dominaus at full volume_

* * *

**Random bonus titbits – sometime in the future**

"A costume for Halloween?" Jajka asked. Her gaze moved towards the windows. For a few moments, she stared passed them, at the horizon, her mind buried in thought. "It's been awhile since I wore my Podhale Rifles gala-dress uniform…"

"That old thing? I wanted to dress as Wellesley myself, but I'm not sure it's peculiar enough for the party…"

"I'm afraid I don't exactly have the funds to get a new costume. You have no idea how long it took me to save up for the last one."

"Then it's settled," Wellington said without a thought. "We'll get you something. It's the least we can do for your heroics during the finals."

Jajka's eyes grew wide and she struggled not to let her jaw drop. "You… you would do that?"

"I told you your life will take a turn for the better if you start acting like a decent person."

Jajka looked around, as if expecting the right words to be hiding somewhere in the room. After a few moments, she settled with just two. "Thank you..."

* * *

**Before the party – Pekoe**

"I want Orange Pekoe to join us," Darjeeling declared.

A nervous smile hung on Richard's face – the one that surfaced only when he didn't feel constrained to keep up his mask of perfection. He even held his arms pleadingly in front of his torso, a defensive stance, but his voice… his voice showed no lack of confidence. He was adamant. "Sorry, darling, there's only so many people we can take."

Pekoe wanted to end the argument as soon as possible. She had no particular desire to attend the party anyway, but when she opened her mouth to say something, nothing came out. It was Wellington who broke the short silence. "It's OK, I'll stay behind–"

"Absolutely not. You need to come! You led the team!" Richard interrupted.

"But I hate parties!" Wellington said. "I'd rather stay back home, cuddle– err, I mean watch a movie with Assam and go to sleep!"

"Adrian…" Richard sighed.

"Wellington!" the boy cried, before Richard's gaze made him concede. "Fine…"

Happy with his victory, Richard added one last thing. "There will be enough time for Netflix and chill tomorrow night."

"We… don't have a Netflix subscription…" Wellington said, confused.

The matter settled, Richard turned to Pekoe. "Sorry, lass. I promise we'll make it up to you."

"It's OK. I'll get my share of troublesome parties when I take over from Darjeeling-sama," Pekoe said.

A smug smile grew on Wellington's face as he let out a chuckle of satisfaction. "See, she agrees with me."

"Troublesome or not, we must attend," Richard said.

"Bollocks," Wellington mumbled to himself. He turned towards the door and walked away, still grumbling like an old man. "Bloody hell, I'd hoped I'd catch a break after the tournament…"

After the boys dropped them off, Darjeeling and Assam went through the four hour long routine of getting ready for the party – one hour longer than usual, as they had just come out of a match. After the lengthy process was completed, they bid Pekoe farewell and left. Thus, the young girl found herself boringly unoccupied for the evening, so she went through the notes she'd taken during the previous day's strategy course, as a means of keeping herself busy.

Darjeeling had realised that in order for Pekoe to succeed her as the leader of the former Saint Gloriana girls, she had to train her. Orange Pekoe was neither a charismatic leader nor a brilliant commander, so Darjeeling took it upon herself to give her junior as many leadership lessons as possible, with the occasional help from Richard. Assam, in turn, was in charge of turning Pekoe into a decent strategist – mostly with borrowed teachings from her boyfriend. Wellington himself occasionally dropped by to help – though Pekoe preferred Assam's patient style over the glorious strategist's somewhat impetuous didactics.

Just the previous day, Wellington had dropped by to cover for his girlfriend, who was off shopping with Darjeeling. The evening had been long, with the young commander in training managing to fill up almost an entire notebook worth of memos. A single pat on the shoulder and compliments to her summarization skills were the only reward Pekoe got for her patience, not counting lessons learned. Wellington had compared the well structured notes to Assam's, which was flattering given how famous the girl had become for her thorough treatises.

Assam had more than exceeded Wellington's expectations, and even if her 'graduation' came too late to save her boyfriend hours of analysing Roosevelt for the finals, the boy was confident that her training would prove invaluable in the future. The decision to build up on her innate talent for data analysis, which outclassed her boyfriend's and even Monty's, proved to be excellent. Pekoe only hoped she could rise to similar heights.

That evening was quiet, however. No lectures were planned and with both of Pekoe's seniors away, the Tea Garden's main room was silent. Darjeeling hadn't slept at the dormitory in what felt like ages, and Assam chose to spend her night at Wellington's mansion more often every week.

She let out a short sigh. She'd heard that Castus had also been recently solitary. Richard was spending as much time with Darjeeling as ever. Wellington did all he could to make it up to Assam for the lost days during the tournament. Even Sharpe spend countless hours away with his Chi-Ha-Tan Yamato Nadeshiko, or Onna-bugeisha or however he called her. Thus, Castus ended up as somewhat of a third wheel. Perhaps she should have followed Darjeeling's advice and approached the boy more often. They had socialised a few times and found that they had some things in common, though, getting close proved difficult. For some reason it all just felt artificial. It felt almost as stressful as mingling with the numerous former Gloriana girls that she was supposed to lead in the future.

Pekoe questioned whether taking over from Darjeeling was even something she wanted. She had nodded every time her senior proposed it, very much aware of how much the soon to be alumna trusted her, but never once did she stop to ponder on the implications. She merely went with the flow. Perhaps Rukuriri or Nilgiri were better candidates...

A noise in the distance interrupted the girl's train of thought.

"Orange Pekoe-san! Orange Pekoe-san!" A piercing voice accompanied by the patter of feet got louder and louder, until a girl burst through the door into the room. She took a moment to catch her breath and regain her composure, before adopting a solemn stance, trying and failing to hide the gleeful anticipation on her face. "Orange Pekoe-san, has Darjeeling-sama returned from her jaunt? I positively must communicate her something of grave importance!" Pekoe took a moment to understand what the girl meant, for she had a peculiar habit of over-enunciating every syllable, on top of the use of unnecessarily complicated words.

In front of Orange Pekoe stood, slightly taller, one of the girls that had joined the Tea Garden a few months prior – a privilege and honour that she had not stopped thanking Darjeeling for until around the finals. She had barely met the requirements and often embarrassed herself failing to do things that most other members found trivial. Hyperactive and rash, she didn't seem like the best choice for the highly selective group, yet despite all of the girl's flaws, she possessed an endless eagerness, a drive to become better. The lass was not one to give up easily. She had put every bit of effort into improving herself, strived harder with every failure. That was the reason, Pekoe guessed, why the girl spoke the way she did. In her attempt to be more like her seniors, she was overcompensating, but it could not be denied that her refusal to give up was very much endearing. "I'm sorry, Rosehip-san. Darjeeling-sama hasn't returned yet," Pekoe said.

The girl tilted her head with childish disappointment, her red hair coming to rest on her left shoulder. It only lasted a moment, then her smile returned. "Would you kindly take a message from me for her then, please? If it's not a bother."

Darjeeling had been distraught at first with the girl's constant lack of success, but she soon came to appreciate the well of infinite enthusiasm and admirable aspiration that Rosehip possessed. It was that enthusiasm, as well as a proactivity exceeding that of everyone else in the Tea Garden that made her stand out, and one day, on a whim, Darjeeling added her on the list of ladies considered for a position of leadership – command of the light squadron.

Even with Rosehip's penchant for making reckless decisions, there wasn't much competition. She would have gotten the promotion, mayhap, had someone with more experience not joined the school – Jajka.

The details were kept secret at first. The only reason Pekoe knew was because she was so close to Darjeeling. Eventually, however, Rosehip found out, but rather than react in a bad way, she became overwhelmed with honest joy for having been considered in the first place. That was who she was: a girl too innocent for envy, a girl who, after learning that the commander of the tank she drove was promoted to a position that could have been hers, continued trying to befriend said commander, and succeeded. Even if from the outside Jajka's cold behaviour made their friendship seem one sided, the blonde had grown to like Rosehip back. The redhead might have been exhausting at times, but her optimism was contagious, and after all that Jajka had been through before joining Eton, she needed such unconditional affection.

Pekoe actually thought the way Jajka treated her driver was an improvement over what Darjeeling habitually did to her. Rosehip often found herself patted on the head and given sweets in a manner similar to how one would pet and offer a dog treats. The amount of chuckles Darjeeling stifled during such displays was certainly a testament to how much she was enjoying the act, but there didn't seem to be any malice behind the play. Poking a bit of harmless fun was how she got back at Rosehip for all the trouble the girl caused, even if Rosehip was oblivious to the joke and actually enjoyed the attention. She was like a child, really. Luckily, both Assam and Pekoe made sure that Darjeeling didn't tease the girl too much, even if she kept coming back for more.

At times Pekoe wondered whether she was the only sane one, before remembering that she was loading authentically deadly armour piercing shells into historically accurate tank guns to shoot at other teenagers and be shot at in return, with nothing more than a veil of carbon nanofiber underneath the conventional tank armour to prevent disaster. The thought only served to make her chuckle all the more nervously.

* * *

**At the party – Cat fight**

Natasha was arguing with Peter about some trivial matter, like they often did, waving her hands around in contrast to the static and cold stance of her brother. They were like fire and ice. Leaning on a nearby wall, Beka enjoyed the show. Occasionally, when Natasha's reactions crossed a certain line, she could no longer stifle her chuckles and would grab onto her stomach laughing, causing her ponytail to swing around violently.

"Enjoying the party, Beka?" a voice asked. It was Darjeeling. Beka hadn't watched her approach, but she didn't have to. Unlike Richard, she hadn't allowed time to dull her senses. She had felt the blonde's presence without even looking. Darjeeling, however, must have expected to surprise the redhead. Her tone was unfriendly, in sharp contrast with her words, and her expression nothing like the bright thing she was famous for. The question was rhetorical, nothing more than a prelude to something else.

"Haven't had so much fun since Natasha decided to break away from the boys' club," Beka said, her confident grin unfazed.

"I want you to stay away from Richard," Darjeeling said. "You're reminding him of a past best forgotten and are generally a bad influence."

Straight to the point, Beka thought. _"Tā mā de..."_ she mumbled. Her grin had vanished, replaced by a frown that one would normally have seen on Wellington. "I won't argue about the first part, but don't you dare accuse me of being bad influence." Beka stared Darjeeling down, yet the latter remained steadfast. "Of the big three _Mumen-jutsu_ disciples, I'm the only one who faithfully follows the values of _Mumen-do_. Of the big three I was the most opposed to his ways! You think you had it hard when Richard ran headfirst into a stupid fight? It happened once, and you weren't even there. Imagine seeing someone you care about do that on a daily basis and witnessing both the fight and the aftermath."

"While I respect your commitment, you've lost. I've won," Darjeeling said. "Don't you think it's time to move on?"

"We're on the same side, _bèn dàn..."_ Beka said. "I've known him for far longer than you have. I've seen how he smiles when he strikes. The monster is not dead. It is merely suppressed by this lion you groom. You don't know him like I do. Don't confuse my devotion for adoration. I'm not here to steal him from you, _èr bǎi wǔ._ I'm here to help. And you would be wise to accept my help."

Darjeeling let out a long sigh and forfeited the duel of stares. She leaned on the wall next to Beka. "Have you heard the saying: those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it?" she asked. "I'll accept your help."

Beka hesitated for a moment. She was surprised that Darjeeling had given up so rapidly… Perhaps she had underestimated the girl's wisdom. "Good," she said. "First advice, try not to be that defensive. I haven't spoken with Richie since y'all harboured me during the espionage debacle. And all this time my liaison was Addie, not your boyfriend. Besides, he might be overly emotional, absurdly aggressive with his enemies, way too hand-holding with his friends, obsessed with his looks and interested in superfluous activities…" Beka said, every point in the long list strengthening the look of reluctant agreement on Darjeeling's face. "But he's loyal to a fault," Beka ended. "Treat him well and you should have nothing to fear."

"Thank you… for the advice," Darjeeling said. "With that out of the way, would you like some tea?"

Beka's trademark grin returned to her face, she answered, "I'd love some."

* * *

**After the party – Gloriana's future**

It was almost midnight when Darjeeling returned from the party. Orange Pekoe was still reading her notes about encirclement, even though her focus had waned. She jumped when her senior entered the room.

"Orange Pekoe? Are you still studying?" Darjeeling said. "It's a bit late, isn't it? You should try not to skip your beauty sleep if possible."

"Darjeeling-sama? I didn't expect you to return before morning," Pekoe said. She felt like caught in the act of staying up late by her mother. It made her chuckle, but she stifled it.

"There are things to do early in the morning. I have to be at the Tea Garden. Assam, however, was exhausted. She fell asleep on the way back… in the helicopter. I didn't believe such a thing possible until I saw it. Wellington's mansion was closest, so she went with him."

"How was the party?"

Darjeeling's face turned a shade paler. "Let's just say you didn't miss anything you would have liked…" she said with a nervous chuckle. "These parties are nothing like the soirees I'm used to." Orange Pekoe looked confused at her senior. It wasn't often that Darjeeling became disconcerted. Thinking of it, even Richard did it more often. Perhaps it was the fatigue. "I should catch some sleep… I'll have a long day tomorrow," Darjeeling said, and turned to leave.

"Darjeeling-sama? Might I ask something?"

The words made Darjeeling stop. She turned around towards her junior with a renowned smile on her face – no trace of weariness left. "Of course, Orange Pekoe. Go ahead."

"Why did you pick me to take over from you? I believe Rukuriri or Nilgiri might make better candidates."

Darjeeling's smile grew brighter. It almost felt like it pushed back the darkness in the room. "Tell me, have you heard this saying: 'Knowledge will give you power, but character will give you respect'?"

Pekoe searched her memories for a few seconds. "Bruce Lee?" she asked.

"The leader of the Tea Garden need not be the most brilliant commander nor the most charismatic politician," Darjeeling said. "She will have strategy advisors and will lead a group of girls that are elegant and well-mannered, that do not require inspiration to be kept from falling apart. No, what the Tea Garden needs – what our girls need – is a role model – a lady of exemplary character to look up to. I've been grooming you for that particular purpose for quite a while," Darjeeling said. "These recent lessons are merely the final step towards your graduation."

For a moment, Pekoe reflected on what her senior had shared. Her eyes stuck on the ground, she moved her orange eyebrows up and down a few times, before looking Darjeeling in the eyes. "I'm still quite certain that the others wanted this promotion more than me…"

Darjeeling chuckled. "What about this saying?" she asked. "Have you heard it? 'Nearly all men can stand adversity. If you want to test a man's character, give him power.'"

"Abraham Lincoln?" Pekoe guessed, a bit faster than the previous time.

"It is precisely because you do not seek power that I am willing to give it to you," Darjeeling said.

"I see…" Pekoe's voice barely pierced the silence left after the end of Darjeeling's discourse. It made sense… Her senior had it all figured out – as expected of the Tea Garden's leader. Pekoe could only hope she would one day be like that.

"Unless you truly do not want the responsibility," Darjeeling said. Her face lit up with realization as, for the first time since the whole matter began, she considered the possibility. "Do tell me if that's the case. I would think nothing less of you."

"Not at all, Darjeeling-sama," Pekoe said. The pretty smile on her small face instantly returned all confidence to her senior. "If you think I am best, I won't disappoint you. I owe it to the Tea Garden."

* * *

_As a final part, allow me to share some things about my fanon._

_Author's Note about canonicity:_

_I've started this fic well before the film was even announced. I think I've actually finished it before watching the film. As such, this fic is based off the main series. Everything that happens there is 100% canonical, both in my fanon and, obviously, in garupan canon._

_In relation to the official garupan canon, the various manga spinoffs and adaptations vary in canonicity from completely non-canon (Motto Love Love) to generally cannon if not for the unreliable narrator (Ribbon Warrior) and all the way to perfectly canon (Little Army). As for their canonicity in my fanon… it's complicated. Generally speaking, the closer the manga is to the official canon, the bigger the chances the manga is also closer to my fanon. However, I haven't read too many manga, and as such, I don't know if I contradicted what happened there. For example, I've taken some inspiration from Ribbon Warrior, but I've only read a part of it, as such I can't say without doubt that I perfectly follow its canon. The same applies to Little Army's depiction of Maho and Shiho – maybe I got them right, maybe not. Therefore plot points from manga should be considered canon in my fanon on a case by case basis. For example: Jajka exists and she was the Grandmaster of Bonple, but if later in Ribbon Warrior her fate in my fic is contradicted, that part in particular may be considered non-canon in my fanon._

_The movie is probably 100% canon in regards to the official canon, even if the whole Gerät is absurd beyond any possible suspension of disbelief. Related to my fanon, it is almost completely non-canonical, for several reasons. It is a fun watch, but given my approach on Senshado (my fic is a more grounded sequel to the show, while the film is a more fantastic sequel) as well as my deconstruction of safety in Senshado, I must reject the events in the film. And even if I didn't want to reject them, it doesn't change the fact that I wrote most of the fic before watching the film, and as such, before some schools were fleshed out (Chi-Ha-Tan in particular – Nishi cannot exist in my fic as she is in the film, because Katanako is the, arguably more competent, leader of the school). I will still take some inspiration from the film where I can, such as with Rosehip, but otherwise, the film may be considered non-canon in relation to my fanon. In that matter, the film is similar to Ribbon Warrior, that's story will probably diverge from mine sooner or later._

_Canonicity in relation to my fanon for other media, such as radio dramas, is the same as with manga. For example, you might notice that I've taken inspiration from "Elegance is the Heart of St. Gloriana's Senshado!" in my depiction of Rosehip's relationship with Darjeeling, but that's literally the only radio drama I've listened._


End file.
